


Trajectories

by glayish



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Bittersweet, Brothers, Community: norsekink, Drama, Friendship, Get Together, M/M, Outer Space, Pining, Revenge, Romantic Friendship, Sibling Incest, Team Dynamics, Thorki - Freeform, Unresolved Sexual Tension, tesseract plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-23
Updated: 2012-06-15
Packaged: 2017-11-05 21:56:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glayish/pseuds/glayish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>They would become two sides of the same spinning coin. For neither one could exist without the other, but neither would they stand side by side. Touched but never touched, they would fight in desperation. Together but apart, they would long with love. Brothers, standing back to back, Thor pointed towards the light and Loki spun around to live on the dark side. It would have to be enough.</i>
</p><p>The Chitauri and Thanos capture Thor to cause Loki the most unimaginable pain. Loki joins with the Avengers to get him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for the [following prompt](http://norsekink.livejournal.com/8195.html?thread=17419779) on the [norsekink](http://norsekink.livejournal.com/) meme – Loki’s unimaginable pain.
> 
> Locked in Asgard, Loki awaits his fate. He has failed. They will come for him, he thinks. But he is wrong, they come for Thor. 
> 
> “Unimaginable pain,” It said. And it was right.
> 
> (Does Loki turn to the Avengers for help?)

There is a vein.

It is the unwavering constant, a path that never ends yet never yields to time or space. The vein is a mysterious thing, running deep to stretch absolutely. It connects all the universe, even those that which the branches of Yggdrasil do not touch. 

It is Fate.

And if you do not know where you’re going, any road will take you there.

The taste of irony is sharp and metallic, like the muzzle that locks Loki’s mouth closed. He is in Asgard once more, stowed behind closed doors to await this Fate. Waits for the vein to be cut wide open and show him dark blood that will reflect the stars.

Two guards pace back and forth past his chamber. He can hear them from his meagre accommodations, up and down the stone floor with heavy footfalls and the clank-clang of too heavy armour. Clockwork.

By count, it’s been weeks.

Perhaps more. He can’t be completely certain. No matter how hard he strains to stay awake the darkness of sleep takes him away at times, slipping past his control with its kind weightless touch. It’s difficult to keep alert in such boring solitary. He hasn’t many ways to pass the time.

Thinking and waiting. 

He could go for that magazine right about now.

Loki feels the bubble of laughter rise up within him fast and uncontrolled but with nowhere to go it explodes in an uncomfortable burst of hot breath and an odd hollow choking sound reverberating against his lips.

_If you fail, if the Tesseract is kept from us, there will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice where he cannot find you._

He has failed.

_People like you always fail, it’s in your nature._

The Chitauri are the least of his troubles. Loki’s insides grow cold, as though the heart of a Frost Giant can grow colder, and he glares until his eyes become unfocused. He whom courts Death will come for him. And as far as hiding places go, behind the guarded walls of Asgard is as good as any. 

It is with a vicious sense of revenge that he hopes they will ruin Asgard when the army of snivelling crawling slugs come. He would welcome all the pain in the world if he could watch them destroy all the gleaming gold. If Loki cannot have this realm then why must it remain beautiful? He means to laugh, when it happens. Laugh like he could not when the mortals ruined Thor.

Loki’s mind immediately swings towards his brother, quick and smooth, like the traitorous curve of a blossom seeking sun. 

The guards outside clang up and down, ticking away the minutes. 

Loki knows in a detached sort of way that he wastes too much time thinking of Thor. But he cannot stop. It’s the kind of way one thinks about the feel of sun against closed eyelids. Annoying. Go away. It hurts. So. Warm. Shut out the light. Feels cold. Return.

It has always been this way. It’s so simple, thinking of Thor. There is something safe in doing so, a distraction from the sick twisting dread that claws Loki’s gut when he allows it in.

Oh, how they’ve ruined Thor.

He is a changed man now, like Loki. Changed from the brash strong Prince, loud as thunder and bright as lighting. He has been made into a piteous careful man. It’s disgusting. 

Loki hates Midgard intimately, for what they’ve done. 

It is Thor who has put him here, after all. Locked up where no one can see, gagged and cuffed so that he may not flee. It’s boring. Thor seeks to do justice by mere mortal standards. He thinks a single apology and a promise of home can wipe away blood on Loki’s hands. 

As if blood was so easy a thing.

It’s funny, this irony thing. That Loki was revealed to be a monster, but Thor has been turned to something worse: The parody of a mortal. A sentimental god. 

Loki feels like laughing again, a fat lump in the back of his throat pulsing as though his heart is trying to escape through his mouth. It’s nonsense really, to feel this way. To feel such maddening anger over _Thor._ Thor, who is not _his._ Not in blood or in brotherhood. 

He swallows thickly. There’s no worth to something you cannot possess.

Right on schedule there is a knock at the door. The guards have stopped their pacing. 

Time stands still.

He does not know why Thor bothers to knock. He is the only one to ever visit. 

Thor marches in without that youthful swagger Loki remembers, holding the expected platter of food. Another way his brother is changed. No one else can bear to look upon Loki, but here is Thor, willing to wait on him, to personally try and ease Loki’s suffering.

Thor does not know what true suffering _is._

He is lucky, Loki thinks as he looks upon his brother. A stubborn overgrown lock of blond hair hangs in his face and new frown lines are beginning to etch just as deep as the old laugh lines. Sometimes Loki forgets that they are so _old._

“Loki,” Thor’s voice rumbles through the quiet of the room, a thread of regret in his tone. 

_You are so soft,_ Loki wants to say. _Without me to fight, who would you be?_

Thor stops in front of the lone chair and kneels so they are of height as he reaches large arms around to unclasp the muzzle. The bones in Loki’s knees rattle as he seizes up when Thor’s chest plate crushes close. A static charge prickles across from Thor’s skin to strike the soft pulse points of his neck. He holds himself still, makes sure his eyes are refusing. 

But even a God of Lies cannot help the relieved gasp that escapes when the contraption is cast aside.

“Please, Brother.” Thor implores as he cups Loki’s cheek with one warm palm. His eyes cast a hook that catches Loki’s each and every time. “Eat.”

It is like this every day. They do not speak. Words alone cannot bridge this chasm between them. 

At first Thor had greeted this revelation with white hot anger that brought storm clouds to the sky. He’d topple the plates of sweet meats and cheeses and wines in defiance of Loki’s silence. But why should he speak when told? 

Slowly, over time, Thor’s heated words were filed down, smoothed over into this temperance that resembles pity too strongly, as if he sees Loki as a pet that had run away and now refuses to obey.

Thor’s righteousness is equally infuriating to Loki, just as everything they do to each other must be. If the only ones you hurt are the ones you love then it must work both ways.

It makes Loki lose his appetite every time.

******

It is after the third month Loki knows for certain why no crueller punishment comes.

The Allfather sleeps.

The dark magic spent sending Thor to Midgard has been paid for by heavy lids and weak heart. 

Loki detests this, of course. Because he does not _understand._ He wants desperately to know why. Why even bother wasting power on such an uncertain end? Odin could not have known that Thor would be able to take the Tesseract. Take them _home._

Odin would sacrifice his shining son to chase a shadow?

The thought cleaves Loki with a surprising slice of pain. 

There are no windows in his room. He imagines a bird, black wings flapping against an endless blue sky only broken by clouds. If you fly that high, is it even possible to see the dark?

How could Thor ever be so foolish, so overwhelmingly stupid, to search for a brother he knows is not real?

“Brother,” Thor says when he enters one indistinguishable day. His cape is muddied at its edge, dirt spray high on the backs of his knees. There is the lingering smell of the sugary grass that grows in the fields south of the city and Thor’s brow is framed by streaks of dirt swept carelessly back into golden hair. 

He has been out riding. _Thinking._ For Thor, it is the pastime of a troubled heart. He moves with countenance that all but screams frayed nerves.

This is what Loki has patiently awaited. Seems that Fate is too slow in the face of Chaos after all. 

“Loki,” Thor removes the muzzle quickly, and as Loki breathes that customary sigh of relief, Thor’s thumb ghosts overtop his heat swollen lips to hold his chin. Loki stills and Thor, carries on, clutching Loki by the shoulders in something akin to desperation. 

“Please, speak to me. What have I done to make you hate me so?”

 _Because you are too easy to love,_ Loki thinks blindly, mentally going through the motions to split himself and go far away. So that he is not so close to folding into Thor’s hands, crumbling under his weight. 

_Because I’ve loved you already too much. All that’s left to give is hate._

“This is not my home.” Loki says distantly, not surprised that the words spill so easily with a voice so long unused. Resentment is a blade that never dulls.

Thor immediately looks chagrined, upset that this fretful confrontation will not go his way. What had he been thinking, out in that field? Did he look out into the starry arm of the universe that curled around their realm, in hopes of glimpsing Fate?

Did he think Loki would give him everything without a fight?

Still, Thor cups his cheek with that careful palm and Loki feels wretched as his skin warms at the touch, like a trained dog waiting to be stroked. He hates it, hates the way Thor can affect him with such a meaningless gesture. 

They aren’t anything to each other. The thought is vicious. The worth of nothing is still nothing.

“Loki, you belong here.” Thor says this in the softest voice he can muster. It’s truly impressive. Now that he is tainted by living with mortals, _loving_ mortals, it almost sounds believable. 

“Cease acting as though your birth is a mistake that you must correct.”

“Isn’t it?” Loki asks, poison words rolling off his tongue. “Perhaps I mean to correct those who birthed me.”

Thor lets his hand fall away and Loki feels iciness crawl over him like a thousand white spider legs. It’s difficult. To not give into desire and take Thor’s words as truth. He wants so badly for this all to be a nightmare that can be extinguished by morning’s light. Wants to be able to open his eyes to that painful brightness and still be able to see.

Loki speaks quietly, choosing his words with care. “It is a dilemma, you have. To find good in what your precious mortals deem evil.”

He knows well how to manipulate Thor. He lets his eyes fill with the shine of bitterness. To people like the God of Thunder this is indistinguishable from sadness. 

He lifts his shackled hands, “You would see me neither free nor chained.”

“You’re right,” Thor bites his lip, thinking furiously. It’s amusing to watch and Loki stamps down on the insect-sized feeling of affection that crawls around in circles. “This isn’t working. I just…”

Thor’s fingers encircle his wrists. Loki’s heart slams fast against his chest, the anticipation of freedom nearly suffocating. 

“There is no sense to this! Father told me of what must be done but now he sleeps, and I…”

“Shhhh,” Loki soothes with a lie, “You have done no wrong.”

“I’ve kept my Brother prisoner.” Thor grimaces in a look recognizable as self-loathing. It’s unnerving for Loki to see it on someone other than himself.

“You’ve kept me safe,” Loki tries.

Thor’s brows clash together like the beginnings of a thunderstorm even as he finds the keys in his pocket and sets to unlocking Loki’s hands. The small metal rod is hot against Loki’s cool skin, as though Thor has been carrying the key for a long, long time.

“If I free you, will you run away to where I cannot follow?” 

“Thor,” Loki grins at this. “You live to spoil my fun.”

But the lock snaps and clicks open, falling in a loud clatter to the floor. Loki marvels at how easy this all is. All it took was a little waiting, biding his time until the proper time to play. Waiting is something he’s good at, it seems. 

Thor watches him warily, holding him as though he will disappear. Loki takes this opportunity to pity Thor in return and flips his hands so that he mirrors Thor’s hold. Palm to palm. The effect is immediate. Thor’s face loses its ashen worry, his cheeks awash with a healthier happy glow.

 _What would you do without me?_ Loki thinks fondly, feeling the strong pulse below his fingertips. _You’d die if I weren’t here to make sure you kept living._

They stand together as one and Loki sways, the vertigo hitting him suddenly after sitting prone for so long. How long has it been since he’s been forced to move? Thor’s grip tightens and for a second Loki feels truly trapped.

He flexes his raw wrists and cracks each finger one by one. There’s an odd well of anxiety and he grins to cover it up.

“I’m free now, am I?” He asks lightly.

“You are no prisoner,” Thor says, an unexpected bit of political tact. He expects Loki to lash out at any moment so Loki treads on tiptoes with his words, slipping into something they both know intimately. 

“How do I look?”

Does freedom ever really show? It’s difficult to tell these days, who rules who. The portrait of a free man can only be painted by those who are still captured. Only they know what it is to yearn.

Thor takes a measured stance. _Looks,_ as if he can see just how tarnished Loki really is. The scrutiny sends a sense of unworthiness roiling deep and unsettling in his stomach. 

He wonders what Thor sees when he looks at him. Is Loki just a small dark smudge, smeared by the Allfather’s hand? How could he possibly be anything but? This is just a game of who can wipe Loki’s face in his failures the hardest. 

“Skinny.” Thor jests back with the small beginnings of a very big smile. He gives Loki a slap to the shoulder and lets his hand curl around the nape of Loki’s neck. “But still a King.”

Loki shivers and hates Thor even more for playing. 

“King of _what?_ ” He snaps.

Thor looks genuinely surprised. “Of Asgard.”

“ _You_ are—” 

“Right now I am only your brother!”

“Don’t call yourself that.” Loki seethes, hunching away. Better Thor realize now what they never were. Never will be. 

“I have no brother.” Loki scowls, trying to back away but Thor does not let him go.

“Then… I am just Thor.”

Thor’s expression is so painfully open and earnest it would be so easy to allow him to keep talking, keep Loki chained here by sweet promises alone.

 _I don’t have you._ He wants to scream. _Don’t **lie.** You’re not allowed._

They are not related by blood, not tethered to each other by any great love or purpose. Perhaps hate is more powerful a nail, hammered sharp and deep into the very roots of Yggdrasil that has them tangled.

The side of Thor’s mouth curves up into this wry thing and he tilts his head so that stubborn lock of hair falls away from blue eyes. Eyes like stormy skies.

 _You think you know pain?_ Says the ghost of the Chitauri henchman still lingering in the back of Loki’s brain. _He will make you long for something sweet as pain._

Loki squeezes his eyes shut and snarls. _I know pain, you pathetic simpering slug!_

True pain is being made a fool, because he’d never known, never realized that his rank stood atop someone else’s sacrifice; but that someone else was his true self. In reality, the truth makes even the most wonderful of lies worthless.

But fools are the sort of people who receive worthless power. 

“Loki,” Thor shakes him and Loki gasps, blinking fast. Vision’s blurry edges coalesce and there is Thor’s determined earnest face. All of a sudden he wants to scratch it right off.

Loki’s knuckles burn white from gripping Thor’s wrists so hard it hurts. His own brand of shackles. Irony is starting to become a familiar friend. They are an ugly parody of a planet and its moon, entwined in a circular dance. 

_I know what it is to **believe** lies._

“Then prove it.” Loki hisses, squinting against the light of Thor’s honesty. “Give me a kiss.”

Thor hesitates. 

It’s obvious in the way his breath hitches and forehead wrinkles. This is where the familiarity of the banter ends. It nearly has Loki in hysterics. Nearly. He grins wide and bright for that heartbeat moment that always comes at the end of a bad joke. Do we laugh about this for years to come or choose to forget?

But Thor does not refuse.

Loki’s wide smile shrinks disbelievingly then falls away.

Thor breaks his grip easily, like oil sliding off the glistening surface of a lake, and he cups Loki’s cheeks with both hands.

Loki gulps and the air tastes hot, disgustingly so. He knows this is just reflex, that day after day of receiving this simple touch has addled his already scattered brains. The suffocating heat makes him pant once, twice into Thor’s face.

“Loki. But you must know I love you.” Thor tells him as he uses one thumb to paint a careful line across his cheekbone and Loki takes a deep shuddering breath. 

He can pinpoint the moment desire blossoms across the skin of his cheeks. His fingertips prickle, unlocked arms having fallen somewhere to his sides, useless. Immediately Loki reaches up and digs his nails into either side of Thor’s waist.

There’s a certain sense of satisfaction he gets when Thor winces.

Loki knows this game is beyond his control, if Thor listens. Thor’s not supposed to listen. He’s not supposed to _care._

There’s no such thing as a _wrong_ desire. Loki has always thought this. But there _are_ some things that you _mustn’t_ desire. And there isn’t anything worse than telling a God what he cannot have.

Loki bares his teeth and all but spits, “You love me so much? Prove it.” He squeezes Thor’s hips.

 _“Kiss me.”_

“Hold your tongue, Brother!” Thor growls and his hands tighten, holding Loki’s head prone.

“Do it for me.” Loki smirks and then sticks his silver tongue out in triumph.

Thor’s nostrils flare. And then, as Loki’s tongue slips back Thor follows.

Loki gasps at the intrusion of Thor’s lips against his own, a hot puff of air in between the pockets of their mouths. Thor growls again and Loki’s face is yanked forward, tilted up, so that he is pressed down with the force of gravity, of Thor’s whole ego atop his.

 _What are you doing?_ He wants to shout but cannot. _How **dare** you change the rules._

But a part of him relishes in the Chaos. Maybe he traces those words against Thor’s demanding mouth because Thor catches Loki’s lower lip between teeth and _pulls._

“Mhhnf,” Loki groans against the pain and draws back enough to take gulps of air. The overpowering cloud of heat rises around him like a treacherous vein of mercury. 

Are his eyes closed? He can’t see. There is something painfully bright on the other side of his eyelids. It hurts. But too soon he feels cold. 

Return.

They kiss again.

Loki’s nose digs into Thor’s face. His teeth find Thor’s stubbly chin and then he _chews._ Thor gasps and there are fingers tangled in Loki’s dark hair, gripping so tightly it hurts. You only hurt the ones you love. It goes both ways.

Loki licks at Thor’s bruised chin and then his lips, and it’s so simple, to slip right in. Thor’s mouth is hot, a blue flame. Plunging into it is like touching his silver tongue to a bolt of lightning. The feeling is electric and sends a jolt all the way down to Loki’s toes.

It is the sweetest kiss Loki has ever tasted. 

Ironic, that it should have waited until now. He could have been less bitter, if he’d had this before. Maybe he would have been more. 

Thor’s hands restlessly tug at his hair, their lips pressed together softly then hard then softly again. It’s convenient. That Loki is skilled enough to trace the runic spellwords he needs in order to seal the deal on his freedom.

Thor must feel the change, because Loki grows beneath him until he is no longer something Thor can mould. Thor jerks back when the magic is complete, his eyes wide and wretched, lips a raw red. 

Loki smirks back, knowing it must look ugly while wearing the God of Thunder’s face.

Thor takes it in. Loki, who has transformed into Thor’s double, a dark mirror image with a mad grin. 

“Was this all a trick?” Thor yells so loudly the sound reverberates in his bones.

“If it is…” Loki swallows. Heart furiously fluttering, he utters every word in time with its painful beat. “If it is, then I am the greater fool.”

There is a sudden crash of metal covered feet against the stone floor outside the doors. A parade of warriors, from the sound of it, all clamouring over each other in haste. There is no discernable beat to their stomps. Time has run out.

“What is that?” Thor asks, voice dark and low. The ceiling shakes and golden paint flakes down on them like peels of Idunn’s apples. Thor whirls. “Is this your doing?”

“I know not what happens.” Loki shakes his head and smiles. It is an ugly and cruel thing upon Thor’s lips.

_BAM!_

An explosion of brick and wood splinters the wall inwards causing the two Gods to dive out of the way. The sun, so blinding, streams forth in a powerful ray from the Asgardian noon sky. Out of the rubble a Chitauri cruiser with its wildly repulsive head bobbing makes a high-pitched squeal as it spots them.

“Other Worlder!” Thor shouts, already on his feet and arm outstretched to receive Mjölnir from wherever it rests. The hammer comes hurtling forward through the sky and smashes the alien into sweet death before landing safely in its owner’s palm.

Thor stands in the opened wall, a silhouette against a sky that seems filled with a plague of dark insects. Chitauri soldiers flying over all of Asgard. They have come.

Thor looks over one mighty shoulder with deceptive calm as Mjölnir points to the sky and sends forth power to encase his arms in gleaming silver armour. The look in his eyes is unreadable. 

Loki watches all this with a disconnected smile, the kind of smile that is just hanging on, that would only stay put if you sewed it into place. 

Irony meets Fate.

“Loki!” Thor booms across the destroyed space. It is a voice of command coming from lips Loki has kissed. How fitting. 

“Fight with me!”

“No, Thor.” Loki yells back. His lower lip trembles with something akin to glee.

Thor’s features crash into a scowl. “So be it. After I have banished the army from Asgard, we will have words.”

Mjölnir spins in his fist and then Thor is fired across the sky, shot out into the daylight like a burning comet on the tight arc of its trajectory.

Stupid, foolish Thor. He should know by now. No words said could ever bridge this rift. 

Loki must slash it deeper and wider, so deep, like the space between stars. The emptiness between them must push them apart, far enough that He whom courts Death will never find him. And if it means leaving Thor behind, so be it. They are ruined anyway. This is what must be done.

There is another sound of an explosion, farther inside the castle now. There are no guards in sight. All Aesir hands have joined the fight.

Dressed as Thor, Loki simply walks out the door.

******

The disguise melts away as Loki runs through the streets.

Chitauri soldiers are in every crevice, crawling out of cracks in the city. His elbow connects with the looming wet face of a large creature, its bloody looking teeth smash inwards.

Loki snarls and throws it down, sends a blast of ice into its eyeless sockets.

The rip in this realm is not so far along. Loki’s feet pound harder against the golden roads that have been turned red with blood and filth. He can escape. He can be free, and Asgard will be too busy with their fallen to worry about the likes of him. What do you have when a war breaks and a king who sleeps? 

A good night.

“It is useless to run.”

That _voice._

It makes Loki screech to a halt, booted feet slamming into the ground hard as a stallion. The dark opal wall of the universe calls to him from beyond Asgard’s edge but he spins on a heel, knowing that it is out of reach. At least, for the moment.

He must listen to this. Oh, how he longs to hear _this._

“You.” Loki spits at the Other Worlder, the Chitauri henchman who haunts his mind. That grotesque _thing,_ it hugs the outcroppings of a destroyed stone wall, its thin filmy lips split open into a blood-red smile. Such a taunting little target, Loki muses, watching with lazy eyes. He cannot bear to not kill it.

“Did not I say there would be no place to hide? We have found you,” It hisses in delight.

“You also spoke of pain.” Loki says, almost bored, even as the javelin of ice shoots from his palm and rams through the Other’s chest. It lets out the most fiendishly wonderful cry as Loki pins it. A helpless squirming bug under a nail.

 _Cling,_ Loki thinks. _Cling to what little power you have. You are a gnat to be crushed beneath my heel. I work for Chaos now, not you. No one is equal to **me.**_

All around them the war persists. The air is thick with fierce warrior cries, and Loki can hear it, if he listens closely. The sound of thunder. He always listens too closely.

“Look,” The Other lifts one vile shaking hand and points.

Loki sees across the distance, Thor and his band of warrior friends knocking back the army from the castle, killing Chitauri swiftly as their weapons allow. But like on Midgard, the foes come absolutely, their flow never ebbed. 

Out of the palace bursts a contingent of Chitauri, lumbering about from the quadrant where the vaults are based. There is a flash of blue, and through their mess of tentacle-like limbs he sees the Tesseract held high.

Loki feels fury take him, cold and fast.

“How disgraceful— Humans have done what you Gods could not. The Cosmic Cube is ours.” The Other wheezes viciously, “And your unimaginable pain is our gift.”

Loki smiles, wide and cruel. “You will not have me.” 

“Not you,” The Other shudders and laughs, high and bright as a blade. “We come for your pain.”

There is the deafening crash of thunder and a bolt of lightning as thick as Yggdrasil’s branches strikes the ground causing a rumbling quake that nearly knocks him off his feet. Loki’s head swings back to watch, shocked still as the Chitauri throw warriors aside and pile atop Thor in a mountain of writhing sea-slime limbs. 

There is a detonation of lightning from all angles, crackling rays breaking out through the tiny spaces in the swarming knot and then—Blue light.

Are his eyes closed? Loki blinks, but they are wide open, blinded for a moment from the sheer intensity of the explosion. There is a throbbing pulse that Loki mistakes for his heart, but it soon makes way for a ringing in his ears.

The mountain of Chitauri is gone.

Thor is stolen.

The Other’s mouth is moving, but Loki cannot hear. It is long minutes before its cruel laughter crackles to life in Loki’s blown ears, aligning with the image that hangs before him. 

“You are a lost c-creature with no master,” It chortles. “Who will love you now?”

The second icicle that pierces the Chitauri’s sick flesh sends waves of dark pleasure flooding in.

“It is a mistake to think I have a master other than myself.” 

“Of c-course you do.” The Other laughs wetly, red blood bubbling between sharp teeth. “Because you are a shadow, Loki. You exist only because there is something brighter pushing you away.”

There is a crack-rip of cartilage and bone. Loki does not flinch as speckles of the henchman’s dying breath spray across his face. It is true enough that no matter how much you think you love someone, you’ll back up when their blood edges too close. But hate is a different thing. 

Loki relishes in the thick red footprints he leaves behind.

******

All this time, Loki thinks while starring up into the star-filled veil that hangs at the realm’s edge.

All this time he’d thought it was _his_ Fate, _his_ vein that he would inevitably cut. He’d imagined such pain, hiding in the darkness only to be found and gutted for his failures, never being mourned when cast aside in favour of Thor. 

How dare they think him silver tongued? It is Loki who has believed the most lies. How bitter it is, to know even Loki’s own enemies would choose Thor over him. He should be used to it, used to the things he loves so dearly being ripped away.

Of course, he’d believed in only loving himself. The image of himself. The Loki of Asgard who had been born a King. But there is the second—Thor. Fitting, in a way. That he should love everything he wants but can never have. For Loki is a disgusting thing, superimposed against a vast universe, only visible in the night.

 _Unimaginable pain,_ It said. And it was right.

_Humans who can do what Gods cannot._

Loki laughs and laughs and laughs. 

“It seems I have something worth avenging.”


	2. Chapter 2

Time moves quickly on Migard it seems.

But it matters not if months, a year, or more has passed. Sometimes it takes thousands of years to come full circle. Loki’s fingertips trail against the odd colourful paintings and monuments that pay homage to the mortal heroes he seeks. 

He slips down the arteries of an artificial jungle. Markings of the Avengers are scattered across the city like clean bandages over old wounds. The scars of war are faded by time, only visible if one knows where to look. Fresh buildings reach towards the skyline as new blades of grass spring towards the sun. Midgard is full of new life growing overtop the dark soil of graves. 

He hates it all, of course. This show of defiance, no matter how small, as if what he’s done to them didn’t matter. As if his presence can be covered up so easily. Human life’s a tragicomedy in the making, if being smothered with a lie is preferable to the truth.

He is an invisible monster amongst these insects, scraped down to the bones underneath a beautiful illusion. He is a constellation, a self-made image of something better, just an amalgamation of stars too far apart to shine bright.

Loki vaguely wonders what it’s like for these petty little people, how it feels to keep the dead underneath them and if it hurts more or less than sending them away.

There is a fantasy of destruction that grows atop a hollow bed of pain in his chest. He feels this ache like no one else could ever know. It’s _his_ fault, why Thor is gone. The scales of power have crashed down with the weight of the Tesseract on his enemy’s side. 

That’s not how the game is supposed to go. 

Loki savours in setting the first street aflame. The rest is just payment.

******

“It’s a terrorist attack! They’ve gone after Stark! Stark Tower!”

“Please, help! Iron Man!”

People scatter throughout the debris of the streets in a kind of organized disarray. It resembles the sudden frenzied flight of a thousand birds. Even in fear they somehow manage to end up pointing in the same direction. 

Iron Man can hear them, vaguely. Jarvis scans the rushing scenery as he passes, panic masking the faces of screaming civilians until they blur together and become one indistinct mob, a mass of anonymous fear.

It’s a good thing that breaking through screaming crowds is his day job too.

Iron Man breaks through to mach speed overhead of the escaping crowds towards the source of mayhem. One day he’s going to just paint a big red target on all his properties and call it a day.

“Tony!” Bruce Banner’s voice blasts over the suit’s communication system in one heavy rush. _“Hurry!”_

Tony banks sharply, thrusters coming to life at his feet in order to keep him upright. But when his sensors read the identity of today’s culprit, he doesn’t think there’s any way he _would_ stay upright if the suit didn’t practically fly itself. 

There’s a hole blasted through Stark Tower. And by ‘hole’ that means it looks like the Hulk got hungry, took a bite out of it, didn’t like the taste and spit out the remains all over the shops that line the opposite side of the street. Well, _used_ to, anyway.

Oh, and then there’s the fact that super bad guy extraordinaire Loki of Asgard is just casually sitting at the epicentre of the rumble. That just so happened to be his favourite Starbucks.

Iron Man hits the ground with a heavy metallic clank and just stands there for a moment, dumbfounded, before Bruce comes running out of who-knows-where-the-lobby-went of his New York office building turned chew toy.

“How’s Pepper?” Tony asks once the suit’s mask retracts.

“Safe,” Banner replies. He’s dusty and his eyes kind of look green as he comes to stand just behind Tony. In case things get ugly.

“Okay, well, Loki!” Tony takes that second of relief and rolls with it, projects his voice and shouts, “Can’t say we left the welcome mat out for you!”

Loki grins with easy malice and slides from his perch.

“I come in peace.”

Tony’s eyes shift from side to side, baffled by this hilarious development. “Uh, yeah. Give us Earthlings a _little_ credit. That’s… not the first time we’ve heard something like that.”

And, wow. Yeah, Asgardians _are_ as big as he remembered. 

Loki’s smiling face is a mask just like those screaming people, it falls away the instant the situation changes. 

“Listen,” Loki hisses, taking measured meaningful steps closer. “I am in need of your pathetic band.”

Tony can’t help it. He throws Bruce a look and subtly charges weapons control. “See, I told Fury that was a bad idea. I hate groupies.”

Bruce’s lips press together in that awkward way that only happens when you’re close to laughing or ready to yell. Loki towers over them both, arms folded neatly behind his back and a menacing scowl storming across his features.

Tony backtracks.

“Nope, just kidding. I actually can’t get enough of them.”

“No offense,” Bruce mutters, pushing smudged glasses up his nose (with the middle finger, oh, Bruce is _sly_ ). “But what are you doing here? You’re not part of the club.” 

“Yeah, last I heard it was members only.” Tony jokes. “Don’t feel too bad, I barely squeezed through.”

“Then take me to your leader, you pitiful insects!” Loki snarls, and really, it’s hard not to laugh. Because it’s not like they haven’t been fighting crime, evil, and the occasional misunderstood good guy long enough to have heard all these cheesy lines before.

But Loki is panting now, craziness prying open his teeth like he’s trying hard to bite down. “He whom courts Death has taken Thor.” 

And this is where Tony and Bruce _really_ share a _look._

“We know,” Tony says simply.

The situation shifts again and a muscle in Loki’s cheek jumps, eyes going wide and round. It’s so comical that Tony makes sure to get off one good energy pulse to Loki’s face. You know, for old time’s sake.

******

It is the dark crumbled edge of the universe.

That is the only way to describe the place that Thor finds himself in. He awakes, groggy and lightheaded and unable to move from his back. He doesn’t realize this until vertigo hits him from all sides and it’s impossible to tell which way’s up. Everywhere is stars.

No matter how deeply he breathes, starring up at the tiny points of light, it feels like his lungs are not filled, as though the air is too thin to lift him up. Meteors stretch out in a clustered band going farther than his eye can see in both directions, the arms of a shallow arc in the sky. 

He is strapped down in bonds fuelled by a piercing blue light, alone and cold without his royal armour in the middle of a rocky belt.

Thor groans and veins rise like scars on his arms as he strains with all his might to lift them. But whatever holds him is strong. Very strong.

“Loki has failed me,” Comes a smooth low voice that drops to the ground and creeps easily into his ears through the thin atmosphere. 

“He lacked conviction.”

“Show yourself! Why have you taken me?” Thor shouts, struggling against his bonds. They flash and glow a brilliant blue, wringing a sharp gasp from him.

There is a man in the dark. 

A large man, nearly the size of a giant. He is shrouded in a flowing robe, hood obscuring the top half of his face. His skin is the colour of wine when Thor catches a glimpse as he glides by, fingers caressing the Tesseract with adoration. 

That is what holds him, Thor realizes with a jolt. He is in an invisible cage, walls drawn out by lines of energy harnessed by the Tesseract. A cage made in a tight eight-pointed cube. 

Thor growls deep in his throat. “You! It was you who controlled Loki! You took away his mind!”

“What little he had,” The man sneers, stopping close and the cold gritty toe of a boot slicks its way down the side of Thor’s face.

“I gave him glorious purpose.” He presses the boot tip into Thor’s bruised chin and Thor fights to not make a sound, nostrils flared and chest heaving up and down. 

“But purpose is just a cruel veil, held over your eyes until it’s too late to see you are falling and cannot be saved.”

If Thor squints he can see figures, far away on the points of the largest floating space rocks. Solider-types who carry armed weapons that glow the same familiar blue.

“It was the Chitauri, if you must know.” The man continues, a smile the size of a broadsword’s blade cutting across his face. “They seal a contract through the eye, you see, for they have none of their own. But your weak, so-called brother— He only saw what he wanted to see. Useless!”

The last word echoes into the endless night.

Thor struggles anew.

“Come!” The man commands and a dreary soldier appears at his side with eyes a sickly possessed lobotomized white and strange weapon held at the ready.

“Yes, Thanos.” The soldier greets stoically, aiming at Thor.

Thor bares his teeth in outrage, “You are Human!”

But there is no reaction. The solider knows not of what he speaks, only stares down, cold and unseeing.

“They all are,” Thanos gestures to the scattered people roaming the sparse military base he has apparently built upon the floating broken rocks. “I can see why you enjoy them so, these Earthlings. I want more.”

“Release them!” Thor roars, but it is of no use. Thanos slams his boot down on Thor’s mouth. The taste of blood and dirt splashes against his tongue and Thor swallows back the pain like a common drink. You can get drunk on pain, if you’re not careful. Sometimes it hurts in just the right delicious way. 

“Your Avenger friends will do nicely, I think. They’re like a vile rash that spreads across my plans. It _itches_ my patience! What— what is that delightful Human term?” Thanos asks offhandedly, scrapping the sole of his boot off in the dust next to Thor’s head.

The solider speaks, monotone.

“Bitches.”

 _“Yes!”_ Thanos chortles and it is a deep bellowing thing before tapering off into a hum of amusement. 

“And Death _loves_ bitches.”

******

“As you know, two days ago word reached SHIELD that the Avengers Initiative Operative known as Thor had been compromised.”

Natasha Romanov stares impassively at the screen as she pulls up the necessary video to queue. The meeting room is silent, save for the restless rustling of heroes without a clear mission. Same as soldiers without a clear target.

They’re not so used to all being in the same room together. Not since first being assembled, some odd two years ago. 

She turns around and doesn’t have to fight to secure their eye contact. At least that’s one lasting effect of a team effort in saving the world– mutual respect.

“What you _don’t_ know is that within the last hour, we received a hostile message declaring a ransom.” 

The video feed shows a large purple-skinned man roughly pulling Thor’s long hair to expose him to the light. Thor’s mouth and chin are bloodied, and as the man speaks Thor’s growls cause the speakers to reverberate. 

Beside that video window is a channel directly connected to the security cameras in the interrogation room where Director Nick Fury and Loki sit across a simple steel table. Agent Maria Hill stands off to the side with gun aloft.

Natasha takes a deep breath, “We now know that the cause of increase in Missing Persons cases over the past eighteen months is directly related to the alien terrorist known as Thanos.”

She tries not to frown. It still sounds completely ridiculous when said out loud.

“Wow,” Steve Rogers runs a distressed hand through short hair. “The first time those alien abduction rumours are true.”

“Uh, yeah, no.” Tony Stark adds, wonderfully unproductive.

Rogers stares back impassively, a twitch in his temple. 

Dr. Banner is the one to diffuse the start of a very annoying headache. He probably has a lot of experience with those. “So this Thanos guy has been systematically kidnapping people from Earth?”

Rogers jumps right back in, “Why? What does he need with Humans?”

“Stop,” Stark holds up a hand. “Hammer Time. It _baffles_ me to be the only one asking this, but what _did_ Barney the Evil Purple Dinosaur ask for as ransom? What’s he want?”

Natasha presses her lips together and looks across the room.

Clint Barton catches her eye and lifts his chin, cold defiance colouring his voice as he answers for her:

“Us.”

******

“So the ant came crawling back.”

Director Nick Fury of SHIELD steeples his hands against the simple table.

Loki’s upper lip curls, just a little, so as not to appear too impolite. Hearing the rough words of mortals grates against his skin. They are an unrefined species, a smattering of crushed rock and pebbles meant to be walked on. Dull, yet still they have something that Loki does not. An undefined thing, something that makes them rage against the thought of their deaths like a fire licking away the shadows.

Perhaps because they live such small lives they cherish every last second. Perhaps it is a different reason. That men and woman without the weight of time stacked upon them can push forward, free and strong into the good night.

Loki does not care about the actual reason. Not really. Never would he trade places just to be relieved of Time’s burden. They do not know, these Humans. They don’t know what it is to bear the weight of years upon years by the thousand, every fight ever fought or love ever loved stretching for more than their miserable minds can imagine. 

These mortals, who strive to even _live_ , their gasping maws, hungry to build and change and better themselves. Changelings twisting around in tight circles, camouflaging infinity by making it so very _small._ They do not know what it is to be born great. Gods are remembered more for what they destroy that what they create.

Oh, he loathes them for changing Thor. But _stealing_ him? That reserves a special slice of vengeance which allows Loki to erase the line he’s drawn between them.

Loki lazily rolls his head to the side.

“He whom courts Death is in possession of the Tesseract.”

Fury blinks one very calculated blink, but Loki knows he is interested, passion is not something so easily contained by the softness of a face. The agent girl, Hill, takes a step closer towards the table.

“Director, Sir,” She says under her breath but keeps a steady firearm trained on Loki, “We’re not prepared. Phase 2 was…”

Fury sharply looks towards the security cameras and she trails off.

“How do we know you don’t want the Cube back?” Fury demands loudly, as if this can distract. “That you won’t transport us to this ‘realm’ and then take Earth for yourself?” 

“Need I threaten you?” Loki plays this game, “Alas I do not threaten.”

“Aw,” Fury smiles sardonically, “And here I was going to ask ‘you and what army?’”

“A deal then.” Loki’s mouth becomes a thin line. “Your assistance for the Tesseract. I care not if it returns to Asgard.”

“Now I’m listening. But you’re not telling me what I want to hear.”

“What is it you wish to know?”

Fury observes him up and down with that bulbous eye, as if it can glean the absolute truth. The idea is laughable. But Loki cannot afford to start laughing now. He would never stop. Simple beasts, believing transience can become something real. Do they just live through it, not caring, or are they just ignorant of this beautifully deceptive kind of hurt? 

“Where the Tesseract came from, what its real purpose is. If we keep it too long does it explode in our faces? Does it need a lullaby every night? Any detail you know. _Everything._ ”

“And the Avengers?”

“Will bring back Thor.”

Loki closes his eyes and smiles, feeling the bright warmth of triumph collide against him.

“Then we have an agreement.”

******

There is a legend.

It lingers in the darkness, the story of a light that never burns out. Created in a place beyond the known nine realms, it traverses the branches of the universe through hands of men who seek its power.

This is the Tesseract. Some call it the Cosmic Cube, a power source never diminished, ever growing stronger. But power is not real power unless a sacrifice is paid. 

The legend is not a kind one, monstrous, it feasts on the hearts of those who hold it, and every taste it takes fills its stomach with a myriad of men. No one goes unflawed in its perfect light. An endless pool of life forces, tangled together so tightly that thousands of heartbeats can be contained inside a simple Cube.

Loki tells them all this, but there is something he dares not say. Something tiny mortals with tiny minds must never know.

“Does it kill you?” Hill whispers, aghast.

“Only if you want it to,” Loki replies, madness in his eyes. He knows the cold touch of that power all too well. “You will die when you must. Even the Tesseract cannot tamper with Fate.”

Fury leans forward, steepled hands coming up to his mouth in the picture of pensiveness. “So we’d be harnessing— What? The ‘life energy’ of aliens from places even you don’t know about?”

“In essence.”

“And the Cube never gets full?”

“I have never heard legend of it.” 

“Fair enough. We assemble at dawn.” Fury’s resulting smirk is an ugly condemning thing, like he’s got Loki all figured out. But that’s a dangerous assumption. It’s not possible to predict someone who always changes their mind. 

Loki stands and Hill stubbornly steps back, hesitantly lowering her weapon. A deal’s been struck here. Loki, the Many Named thing takes on one more. Before he can trace the incantation with his tongue, Fury futilely tries to get the last word.

“Avenging your brother, Loki? That’s not like you.”

And Loki replies softly, hands glowing green as his magic takes hold. 

“It’s amusing that they call themselves the Avengers. How much pain you must all be in— To masquerade your delight in retribution as justice.”

Pain for pain, that’s the game.

Loki vanishes.

******

Natasha raises one eyebrow at the screen. “You know that sounded an awful lot like a threat.”

“Hypocrites make the best liars.” Clint replies, standing next to her now. He leans over her shoulder to hit the release on two-way microphone line.

“Sir, the Council’s not going to like this.”

“The Council wants the Cube,” Fury says from over the video feed, “And I intend to deliver, so suit up.” 

The team watches as Fury’s one large eye zooms in close to look straight into the camera’s lens. “The Avengers are going to space.” 

There’s a pause of sheer shock as the reality sinks in.

“Yeah, me in an enclosed tin can blasting off into the ultimate vacuum.” Banner breaks the silence with self-deprecating humour. “I can see how this is going to go over well.”

“Well this isn’t what I imagined when I enlisted,” Steve says, looking more determined and at ease with the beginnings of a plan, “But I’m in. Thor is one of us. He helped save the Earth.”

Natasha can’t let this comment pass without logic. “Yeah and this isn’t about Earth. This is another ‘realm.’ We don’t know _where_ Thor or the Missing Persons are and if we have to rely on Loki then there’s no guaranteed way there or back.”

“Uh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” Tony says, guilelessly. “I’ve been there.”

“And just _where_ is there?”

“Okay, so it may not have great cell reception, but—” He throws up a series of hologram projections that are obviously pulled from his suit’s extensive terrain scans, from two years ago. 

“This star system? Is ours. Jarvis cross-referenced the star points that can be seen in the background of the ransom video. Whoever this guy is, he’s hanging out in the asteroid belt just outside Jupiter.”

“You mean he’s our _neighbour?_ Fantastic. Wait,” Rogers stops short, “How are they breathing? I didn’t see any spacesuits.”

Stark throws his hands up, “Don’t look at me. Even a genius has limits.”

“Yeah and Thanos has the Tesseract,” Clint mutters in irritation. “Not such an impossible feat with that sort of backing power.”

“Uh, wow…” Banner’s amazed tone wafts through the frantic conversation. He’s thumbing through the hologram maps, his fingers tracing trajectories as if he uses this technology every day. Seems Stark Industries’ R&D department has treated him well after all. “If Loki spits us out right—here—This is…This is doable.”

Clint glowers and Natasha tenses, knowing he’s going to be difficult. This isn’t really their jurisdiction. But who else can they call, Ghostbusters?

“I’m an assassin, not an astronaut. I’m not in the business of saving people. In fact, it’s the opposite.”

“The day you became an Avenger is the day you became a hero.” The good Captain has always been too optimistic. 

“Forgive me for not wanting to swoop in and save Loki’s ass.”

“Actually, he’s not the one who needs saving. Forgetful, Barton?”

There’s a moment of introspection but a thick layer of trepidation is rising around them like hot air. They’re all conveniently not asking the question that stands like a ticking time bomb in the room. Why would Loki want to save Thor when, before, he’d made it obvious he didn’t want anything to do with him? 

But any answer would be a frivolous one, in the face of saving a teammate not seen in so long, and who knows how many prisoners.

“Orders are orders and this is just another mission.” Rogers frowns, “Has man landed on Jupiter yet?”

“Uh, no. That would be the Moon. And Mars, but SHIELD won’t tell you that.” Stark should be used to meeting incredulous stares by now. “Yeah I hacked the system again. Couldn’t help myself. Your security leaves itself wide open. Anyway, wait’ll you get a load of my new baby.”

“Ehem.”

Stark throws a cocky grin over to Banner. “Sorry, _our_ new baby.”

“I only take credit for 12%.”

“You’ve been talking to Pepper too much. Bad Hulk. Bad.”

It’s at this point that Clint’s countenance grows stony and he marches straight out. He doesn’t bother with pleasantries, their line of work doesn’t really balance on being civil with co-workers. Actually, it balances more on a well-placed bullet in the head. 

Rogers watches with a disappointed look painting his face.

“Who plucked his feathers?” Stark jokes. He always thinks everything is a joke.

 _“Ultio confessio doloris est,”_ Natasha bites out and leaves just as quickly. They’re different from them, Clint and her. They wouldn’t understand.

“That’s it. Now I _have_ to get Rosetta Stone.”

“I don’t think it comes in Latin.”

******

Clint lets her find him, sitting on the railing of the top floor in SHIELD’s new base. They’re in the middle of nowhere and it’s a lonely kind of place actually, being on the highest spot at the heart of just a lot of dirt.

Natasha comes to stand next to him and tilts her head. Sometimes she likes to pretend that she sees the same things, but they both know she can’t see as far as him.

“Don’t tell me you’re buying all this,” Clint’s chin dips down to almost touch his collarbone, rolls an arrow in between two fingers. 

“No.” She idly leans her elbows against the thin railing, red hair juxtaposed against the sky. “But it’s the job. I never plan to get involved unless told to.”

“What’d you say to him?” He squints, looking up.

“You heard?”

Clint just smiles wryly. 

“Something I’ve come to believe about people like us.” Natasha continues with a shrug and when she answers her voice lacks any discernable emotion, a defence mechanism that works well as a shield but less effective when he knows all her weak spots. 

“Revenge is a confession of pain.”

“Well then…” Clint wants to say something meaningful in response, but he’s never been very good at observing things up close.

“He must be in a lot.”


	3. Chapter 3

The arm of the universe wraps around the night sky. It is a cold embrace that will soon give way to morning. 

Loki waits in the alcoves of a forest’s edge, observing the flickering lights above. He cannot stand to be around Humans, for he must prepare his mind. The task of ripping open the fabric of realms is no easy feat. Especially now, now that he has only his own power to rely on.

Is it enough?

Is Loki ever _enough?_

He grinds the heels of sweaty cold palms into his eye sockets, finding comfort in the physical pain. Oh, but he is so _much_ in his nothing. The son Laufey did not want, the weapon Odin had stolen. A Prince of a world not truly his, a King hanged by the chain of command. A lie built upon a lie does not make something real.

Loki is a mass of winked out stars, severed connections. It is only by the barest thread, the light that Thor casts upon him, that he should still be called a Brother.

But even that title Loki has renounced with fierce resolve, driven by the twisted emotions that dwell is this body that has never justly been his own. It’s not fair. 

Loki breathes harshly in and out, the air burning the insides of his nostrils with its ugly alien scent. It’s not fair that he should only be what others make of him. That to be just Loki is to be left alone, shapeless and undefined.

He falls apart, hates with so much fervour that he does not feel real, like anything, if Thor is not watching.

Thor, last of his kin, his only tether. Now he is taken by Thanos as punishment for a failing Loki cannot escape. 

Pain. Unimaginable, it carves into his chest and scrapes against the hollow inside him like shards of broken glass. How revolting it is, to _feel_ on this magnitude. He’d thought all of his heart was gone, having lived in the dark for so long that when he finally held the Tesseract, he’d _clung._

Phantom pain, like a ghost of a limb cut off too soon.

He thirsts so deeply to destroy this filthy planet, destroy it all. He wants to be the one to wipe away these nattering pests who impersonate warriors, only pulling on their disguises to be great in the name concepts bigger than them. What is the point of not wearing power for power’s sake? 

He feels the tug of an idea, a fantasy playing out in the back of his mind.

To take back Thor _and_ the Cube, two limbs from him which have been wrongfully removed. It is a funny parody of what came before except, instead of Asgard, they would return to an empty world. A world with just the two of them. It would be a prison for Thor, no doubt, for Loki? A paradise.

Unlimited power, a universe to call their own. No one else existing, no other threats to convince Thor to look away. 

They would become two sides of the same spinning coin. For neither one could exist without the other, but neither would they stand side by side. Touched but never touched, they would fight in desperation. Together but apart, they would long with love. Brothers, standing back to back, Thor pointed towards the light and Loki spun around to live on the dark side. It would have to be enough.

But this is just a fantasy, a childish wish that Loki cannot let go too far. He coughs, and then laughs, for he is full of so much longing already. Full of anger so hot that he will fight with bare hands. Thanos is powerful, and the scales of coming battle are wildly tipped out of their favour unless Loki can play the game properly, always a step ahead.

He would content himself with taking back that which is his. Great men are given power, they do not steal it. He has learned this lesson.

He would save Thor. 

An echo of a little boy’s laughter innocently trickles into Loki’s ears. 

_“I love you, Loki.” Thor’s voice was small back then, a clear thing that sometimes cracked but never rumbled._

_“Don’t be stupid, Thor.” Loki had frowned, pride swelling up to twist his mouth. It had grown on him, the knowledge of acting as though you don’t want something makes it easier to accept, less humiliating._

_“Why do you always say that?” Thor had laughed, rolling over to look at him, head pillowed against one knobby elbow._

_The apples of his cheeks were pink in the golden sun of a dying day and the sweet grass that grew tall enough to obscure them swayed gently in the summer breeze. Thor picked at a long blade of grass by Loki’s head, bending it so that it brushed and tickled Loki’s nose until, cross, Loki batted it away._

_“Do you really think me mindless?” Thor had asked, eyebrows turned up in a look so adorably confused it did not help his plight._

_And Loki had taunted back, weaving that long blade of grass around Thor’s restless twiddling fingers, a ring of sweetness so fragrant, almost too much. A scent he would remember long after the frost came to kill it all._

_“Only in your love.”_

Because Thor loved too much. Loved his precious Midgard and Avengers, loved those who were not worthy of such sun to light them. Because he loved Loki more than anyone ever had and then he’d stopped.

For that _woman._ And it mattered not how short a time Thor had been turned away, not to the Loki who was King and only wanted Thor to _see what he was missing._

But Thor had come for Loki. Against odds, he had come to look for him and him alone. Out of a sense of duty, or mourning, or anger, Loki cared not now. The distance between them only makes the thought of Thor’s warm palm against his cheek that much hotter. The stain of Thor’s lips against his a burn. He is undone because of it, marked by such simple, simple touches. There is a searing fear in his gut, that if they were ever to unite it would mean immolation. 

For he was a shadow, pushed far, far away and stretched thin in the light of Thor’s greatness. The more his brother shone, the more he had to flee. And the farther he went the more he faded. But now that Thor is blotted out, the dark stretches endless, a cold thing, empty as the sum of space between millions of stars. The thoughts fist his heart tightly, squeeze until he gasps and chokes.

Thor is the only one he’d ever save. Everyone else, he’d kill. 

Maybe this is how it was meant to be. Why he is driven out into the black, to meet his destiny. That it is only in the absolute dark a light and shadow can truly touch.

Such sweet sentiment.

He is allowed this one, Loki thinks. One and no more. 

Because who is Loki without Thor?

******

Let it never be said that the Avengers weren’t waiting for an itch to scratch.

In some way, this whole thing is a lot like the exhale of a very large breath held in for way too long. They had been assembled for something great after all, and the slow passage of time after an alien army had been unleashed on Manhattan? Not the most exciting leg of their lives.

Of course, Bruce Banner takes comfort in boredom nowadays. 

The airbase is a loud place even in the early hours of the morning. It takes a team of over a hundred personnel to manoeuvre the Stark Shuttle out of the hangar, and eight oversized tows to bring it across the tarmac.

“Hope you don’t mind the modifications to your brainchild,” Fury shouts over the roaring of engines and the unyielding buzz of tires against asphalt.

“No problem,” Bruce replies sardonically, the only way he really can. “Only took us all night to fit them in.”

He can’t really tell if Fury is smirking with amusement or just bracing his face against the wind because Bruce is kind of standing on his bad side.

“Did we really need so many surveillance devices?” Bruce rocks back and forth on his heels, hands tucked into his pants pockets. “You’d think you were trying to keep tabs on us.”

“That’s what I get paid to do,” Fury turns and his wildly flapping leather coat just adds to the raucous. “Just think of it as my _eye_ in the sky.”

The Stark Shuttle is a pet project of Tony’s that’s been in development. Has been ever since two years ago, when he’d taken that necessary trip through a portal into another part of the solar system to fling a nuclear warhead at an army that just wouldn’t quit. Tony Stark, one man army. Weapon of mass destruction in a single pitch. He’d come to Bruce, the scent of warm shawarma still on his clothes, and asked him to reach for the stars.

Bruce has done more for less.

“Gentlemen,” Agent Romanov acknowledges as she walks by, heeled boots of her assassin gear clacking rhythmically. She swings two oversized cases onto the baggage crate. Weapons, probably. Lots of weapons. “It looks like our host has arrived.”

And it’s true, a plane signaller is waving his wands as if pandemonium has just touched down. At the end of the lane, there stands Loki in full regalia, dark cloak and cape whipping in a maelstrom of black and green. He looks a smidge less crazy than usual. That’s something.

Fury ushers Bruce up the lot, and that’s when the Avengers are reassembled, put together on this new chase. The usual suspects, they’re lined up in front of the stairs that lead up to the Shuttle and then, who knows how far.

Loki strides down the lane, features impassive save for a sort of mesmerizing dark determination that has his usually smirking mouth fastened into a thin line.

That’s the moment when Bruce realizes that between Loki and the Other Guy, he’s not sure who’s exactly the worse off.

Bruce knows what it’s like. To know every step you take can become a condemnation. What it is to be in possession of something dark you can’t fully control, something that is always lurking somewhere inside. 

He knows what it’s like, to have people look at him and see nothing but a monster. And he knows what it is to have someone look at him as if he’s not. Those are the times he can act as if the Other Guy isn’t real. But then comes the looks of betrayal, when control slips from his fingers to become a green mindless thing, and those precious people realize he is powerless against lying for too long. 

Lies do not change the truth; it merely takes the edge off until the whole thing falls down to cut off your head.

Bruce watches Loki, and when their eyes meet for that briefest second of recognition, the God smiles. 

Are you hiding a monster? Bruce wonders with a nameless feeling a lot like fear swimming in his stomach. Or do you wear it on the outside and we’re too stupid to see?

Loki stops in front of Agent Barton, smile turning dry as he looks down at the stony-faced man, sunglasses masking anything eyes may betray. 

“You did not rescind my request.”

“You don’t seem surprised,” Barton replies.

“I am not.” Loki’s mouth twists at this, “The Avengers have heart.” 

Barton tilts his head upwards and takes the glasses off. His normal eyes are a show of defiance. Loki does not sneer, merely cocks his head and steps back, addressing the group as he would a squadron under his command. If one thing’s for certain, Asgardians come with a lot of entitlement.

“Beings possessing heart are special. Bright spots found in all the realms, connected by the invisible roots of Yggdrasil. The unseen tendrils that hang and tie together those of the same dreams. In this way, both Human and Aesir may stand on even ground.”

“Now _that?_ ” Captain Rogers is smiling, and holds his hand outstretched. “That sounds just fine to me.”

They all hold their breath for what seems like forever and then finally, reluctantly, Loki shakes Steve’s hand.

“Wait. Are you saying in your freaky space tree house, we’re all linked?” Tony draws a little circle in the air.

“Yes.” Loki says. And it’s weird but even though he speaks loud enough to be heard over the drone and buzz of the airbase, Loki sounds vacant, very far away.

He vanishes.

For a second there’s an outraged silence before Loki laughs and waves from the porthole at the top of the stairs before ducking inside Stark Shuttle.

No time for nonsense, Agent Barton salutes Fury and makes way, Romanov close behind. Fury gives them one last nod and the rest of the SHIELD operatives, who have been helping to prepare for launch, rush to man their stations.

The hour it takes for them to go airborne is long and anxiety knocks on the back of Bruce’s mind until he’s almost ready to answer that door. He breathes deeply and they’re strapped in tight as Tony operates from the cockpit, Jarvis helping to calibrate for atmospheric differences and weather patterns in the way of their flight path, zooming across the New York City skyline. 

The craft is nearing Stark Tower, under construction yet again, when Bruce lets his eyelids peel open.

“You think this is a good idea?” He mutters under his breath, staring at the white star on Steve’s shield propped up beside the seat. They’re about to see a whole lot more.

“Maybe, maybe not.” Steve says, staring straight ahead, always the polished solider, “But it’s not my call to make.”

Loki is sitting ahead of them at the helm, golden helmet curved and shining in the low light, hands curled in strange positions as his magic twines into life.

The craft begins to tremble and shake with turbulence as Tony sets the course to flying straight up. A vertical incline towards the invisible door ripped open by the Tesseract and Chitauri army, still weak from its torn hinges.

Loki’s hands tremble and then clench into golden glowing fists.

Bruce sees Agent Romanov’s hand quickly reach over and grasp Barton’s on the armrest.

“I can understand him, I guess,” Steve continues, lightly and a bit breathless, like when you try to speak in that moment you’re sitting at the very top of a rollercoaster just as it starts to fall.

“Yeah?”

“I mean, I know what it’s like.” And Bruce can’t help the ironic smile that creeps up the side of his mouth when Steve explains. 

“Trying to get back to someone you’ve left hanging.”

Stark Shuttle winks out of sight.

******

Mjölnir rests atop a small outcropping, lodged in the crater of a lonely rock that oscillates slowly, mere lengths away.

But it does not come no matter how loud Thor calls. 

_“Be quiet!”_ Thanos bellows after Thor begins shouting his voice raw for the hammer, his mind’s voice obviously too quiet, not enough. 

The cloaked man whirls about with a sneer and the Tesseract that is always in hand points towards Thor. A small beam of energy whips out from the cube and strikes him with a lash that has the power of a thousand. The short moment of punishment causes Thor to fold in on himself, muscles clenched, breaths puffing in harsh quick bursts. He is unable to escape the smell of his own singed flesh and hair.

It has been the same for hours or days, Thor knows not how much time passes. Thanos, systematically splashing pure energy against his unprotected flesh. His tunic falls around him in tatters, pants singed. The wandering Humans linger now and then, cruel vacant stares condemning Thor in more ways than the emptiness of this corner of the universe ever could.

Thanos calms just as quickly as his rage surges, a gentlemanly smile curving purple lips as he stows the Cube in a tight fist at his hip. 

“Thor,” He threatens in that musical deep voice and his arm sweeps out in a dramatic motion, casting aside his flowing cape to reveal stars.

“Your pathetic hammer will not come. Call for it any longer and I will destroy its pedestal and it will drift off into space!”

“How have you silenced me?” Thor asks. He twists raw red wrists, burning himself against his bonds as Thanos comes closer, bends down and strokes the blackened ends of Thor’s golden hair with a simple, fascinated touch. He leans in, hot breath on the side of Thor’s sweat-streaked face, but Thor is not intimidated. Thanos seems more man of intellect than brawn for all his mighty weight. At least for now, he is still just another foe whom wields a weapon like a toy. 

Thor is going to _break_ it. 

But Thanos does not answer him, only speaks into his ear a promise.

“Mjölnir shall fall so far that you will be old and gray before it hears you and _dead_ before it returns. It will rest upon your skeleton, a tombstone. And there will be no one worthy enough to allow you a proper mourning.”

Thor closes his eyes against this intimate intrusion. 

Thanos is plotting something. 

Thor knows this to be true, but he cannot imagine _what._ This is not a simple matter of making mortals kneel. Not when Thanos steals Humans, arms them with the very power he covets. It makes no sense to Thor, but he has never been one to discover the motives of his enemies, more inclined to rush in on his own ambitions and take victory away from battles instead of knowledge. Understanding the enemy— that has always been Loki’s forte. 

Thor feels a pang within his chest, an ache that comes attached to the thought of his brother like the taste of a bitter core in a sweet apple.

Perhaps Loki understood too well, until that knowledge became his own. Until thinking like an enemy transformed him into one.

Thor bites his lower lip and his eyelids squeeze together. Looking inside is preferable for once, instead of having to stare into the bleak nothingness that encases him. For all he knows, Asgard remains in peril, left alone and in confusion. The only consolation is knowing that, by the last strike of Mjölnir, most of the Chitauri had been destroyed in the shift between realms. 

But why did they attack _him?_ Because they sought revenge on an Avenger? To take the Tesseract would have been simple enough, and yet it was not so. There is no solid conclusion Thor can draw. He yearns for advice, anything to help him out of this imprisonment. Locked and left alone, all he can do is wait. And think.

It is maddening.

“I cannot continue to allow the Cube to consume the minds of those unworthy, but it is not yet strong enough.” Thanos says to himself, stalking this way and that. A soldier tends to him, trailing behind as though Thanos requires an ear to listen. But Thor cannot see in what way this alliance may be. A Chitauri army is by far stronger than a Human one.

“The time comes too close.” Thanos mutters.

“What comes,” Thor asks, desperate to understand, but speaking with bravado, an arrogance he has not felt in some time. “ _What_ could possibly come that we cannot stop!”

“Everything.” Thanos says, amusement makes a muscle in his jaw dance as he looks past one massive shoulder at Thor. “It is Everything.” 

That _word._

It shocks Thor to the core, a hot blaze of a memory flaring in its wake.

He remembers Odin’s wise gravelly voice, just before being magicked to Midgard. The Allfather’s imparting words of warning took the form of a simple fairytale, as fables meant for teaching children lessons are wont to do. Odin had cast his eye upon Thor and told him of a legend. 

A story of a light that never burns out.

The only light in an eternal darkness, it is the journey of a sleeping beauty, slumbering for a stretch of time that even a God would envy. 

A soul from the Beyond— that is the truth of the Tesseract. A collective of hearts balanced atop a cosmic scale, weighing the valour or darkness in men and women in all the realms and weighing the options. 

Whichever way the scales tip, the Cosmic Cube falls. 

_Your Brother’s hands are stained by this artefact,_ said Odin. _You must find it, and take it back, before it claims Loki to be its owner._

_Why?_ Thor had asked, at the end of his tether. 

Because the Cube will one day become independent yet still possessed. Unawares until awoken, it will wield its own power in the image of its masters, influenced by the personalities and beliefs of those whom have held it. The hand the Cube rests upon at the time of awakening will touch the soul directly, the deepest desires that can make a man, overlaid in the heart until both Master and Slave are one in the same.

And that is it, Thor realizes with dawning awe only eclipsed by dread. The Tesseract is a powerful living thing which sleeps, like Odin himself. A King of a realm beyond that which Thor knows, one who will grant his power to whomsoever holds it in his fist.

A bark of laughter erupts from Thor’s throat, irony twisting a dagger-like feeling deep within his heart. Pain. Not for the thought of this greed-filled Thanos, hand curled lovingly across the Cube’s corners. 

No. Not for that. 

Thor’s head hangs low, stubbled chin nearly kissing his collarbone. 

Look where they are now, because of their _Father._

Thor had thought Loki _dead! DEAD!_

How many nights did Thor, he whom had mourned the longest, spend riding through the southern fields, forcing his horse to drive the tracks of tears long cried into the very dirt he and Loki had laid upon? How many days did he, God of Thunder, spend standing amongst the sweet long grass, mud thick on his knees in the sluice of rain showers? 

Too many. For as long as the hands of time had parted them. 

This is why there had been no coronation, in the wake of Odin’s slumber and the loss of a son. How could Thor proudly wear the very cursed crown that had killed his brother? 

Odin had told him, told him of Loki’s origin. A salacious secret revealed in hopes of halting his mourning. Truth, meant to rip Thor’s misery from him, like plucking an organ from deep inside his body by telling him it was one heart he was never meant to own. 

As if blood was too thick to flow forever. Yet still he bled.

Thor would shed as much blood as he had tears over the thought of Loki being lost.

Thor had assumed, naively, that it was the touch of the Tesseract which opened Odin’s eye to Loki’s heart, still beating somewhere in the black. But no. It was _Loki’s_ touch upon the Cube which had forced light into Odin’s purposely blind eye. The possibility that Loki could become Master to something Odin himself had locked away. 

And it was only for this slight, no other, because the Cube had been stolen by mortals before. Only then did Odin tell Thor of the legend and of Loki.

_How do you like it?_ Thor thinks of his father with despair. _To have what you thought you knew was safe, stolen from you?_

The Allfather thought Loki to be so _unworthy_ to hold this power, this gift, he’d unearthed this mournful love from Thor— used it, cast one stone to pin them both down.

How could he?

Because who better was there, to hold such power, than a King of Asgard?

“Why do you laugh?” Thanos’ voice crawls through this knot of thoughts, like the curling smoke of a fire that burns in the distance. It makes his mind unfurl for a precious second, a moment to come undone. 

“You,” He says simply. The incredulity upon his captor’s face starts Thor to chuckle softly at first before it becomes loud and boisterous, drunk-sounding even to his own ears. 

At this, Thanos pauses, observes him with interest, because Thanos is waiting too. They are both captive with each other here, it seems. There is nothing he can do but talk. 

With a flick of a wrist and Cube in hand, Thor’s bonds tighten, vines of blue light wrapping themselves up his thighs, around his shoulders, until he is spread like the eagle that soars against the sky. The slab of rock he lies against jolts, dust and pebbles floating into the air in streams as Thanos uses the Cube’s power to lift Thor and the very ground he lays upon upwards. The blood in Thor’s head rushes down, causing his ears to ring.

“What joke would you have at my expense?” Thanos muses, waves the obedient lingering soldier near him away.

“That you thirst for so much more than you can drink,” Thor says.

Thanos enjoys talking. It is a trait Thor recognizes well from one other. “And what silly notion would you have me swallow?”

“You are like my Brother.”

Thanos cocks his head, smirking. “I am neither a coward nor a failure, foolish little God. There is so much you do not understand. So much you cannot begin to understand, but I will start with what you should _know._ ”

Thor expects it this time, when Thanos comes close and presses a fat thumb into the tender of his bruised chin.

“He _hates_ you. You, whom he truly wishes to love but cannot because you call him _Brother._ ”

“We are not of the same blood,” Thor admits, feeling oddly hollow for it. “He was born a Frost Giant, but made my kin. This is the simple truth that has estranged us. There is nothing else.”

“ _There is nothing else,_ ” Thanos mocks. “There is everything! You are blind, Odinson. Well,” A senseless, greedy smile opens his lips, “ _I_ can help with that.”

The sudden searing pain of the Tesseract causes Thor to scream. He can see it, pushed against his chest, a perfect cube that warps as though it means to enter through his skin. Thor blinks against the light of it, and the next he is blind, yet not. A thousand images running across the backs of his eyes. Colours, feelings, knowledge— the needle of a compass, pointing across a cluttered landscape, showing him the place he must go. A vein that leads straight back to the heart.

He feels Thanos force the Cube against his chest harder and the pure pressure of it makes him tremble, the bonds curled around him _wring._ The force is like a thousand hands pushing, pulling; prying him apart.

And then, just as quickly, it stops, the Cube pulled back but held dangerously close.

Thor’s panting comes wild and unrestrained. 

“Witnessing you suffer is almost as sweet as the amorous eyes of Death.”

“I do not suffer.” Thor manages to grit out between each breath, staggered by the pounding of his rushing blood.

“Liar.” Thanos lilts, “You will do nothing _but._ ”

Thor fills with pity at an awareness bled into his eyes by the Tesseract’s light. That so large a person may be filled with so small a want. 

“Is there someone for you, Thanos,” Thor asks quietly, “Someone out of your reach? Even the Tesseract won’t make her choose you.”

At this, something in Thanos’ posture snaps and Thor sees the milky whites of his eyes, just under the voluminous hood, before he snarls with a fist reared back which glows the most brilliantly blinding blue. The full power of the Cube smashes against Thor’s face when knuckles carve into him. 

“See!” Thanos roars over the shriek of energy. “See with your own eyes, the most magnificent _wretchedness_ of Loki Laufeyson!”

And it does. It shows Thor _everything._


	4. Chapter 4

It starts off small. 

He is Thor but he is not.

******

He is Loki and sees himself, his brother, a fresh-faced and golden haired adolescent who is hopelessly not paying attention.

A feeling of fondness creeps in, so suddenly and easily, like a single ant that’s lost its way. It’s this ticklish sensation which prompts Loki to draw a heart in the dirt during the boring history lesson outside. Thor does not notice, would not care. Loki is always leaving marks here and there, strange little symbols that he etches into the world around him. He likes to leave landmarks, memories of fleeting sentiment, because sometimes it feels like he has so few.

Loki is different from others in this way, has been ever since they were young. He lacks empathy for those around him. It is not that he does not understand compassion, merely that there is no one worthy enough of _his_. Loki feels hollow sometimes, as if he needs to be filled up, but he knows not what of. So when the little bugs of emotion crawl into the bottom of his gut, he can’t help but feel them, feel each and every scrawny twitching leg. 

Repulsive.

The stupid old tutor catches him in his game instead of taking dutiful notes and Loki gets called Mischief Maker. Liesmith. Silver-tongued.

Thor looks confused and Loki does not want him to suffer this fool, so he grins and laughs. As though the age-cracked man has made a terribly funny joke. As though Loki does not experience the insults, does not mind, because nothing can ever touch his greatness.

This is when Thor, simple Thor, laughs too.

It is a sour misplaced emotion that forces him to swipe at the dirt and erase the silly heart. The next time the tutor reprimands them, Loki spits wasps at him until he is stung just as badly as words can do.

He and Thor escape the lesson, laughing and shouting while flailing their arms, as wasps do not discriminate with their punishment. They run until reaching the edge of the lake and Loki stops, just at the edge, staring down at his reflection in the blue before Thor comes barrelling through and pushes them both in.

The cool sand-coloured mud refreshes their stings and Thor’s warm grin is a balm against the sharp cold of the water. Loki wants to reach out, but can’t. His hands are clenched deep in the muck of the lakebed, fingers curled as though he’s afraid to do anything but hold on.

Loki swallows, a furious thumping in his chest causing a lump to form in his throat. They will be in _so much trouble_. It’s the most excitement he’s felt in what must be centuries for a mere mortal. All of a sudden he wants to _pant._

He’s too late to notice when Thor’s grin turns wicked, and Loki accepts the handful of mud that sneaks down the front of his collar.

“ _Thor,_ ” He gasps, inordinately pleased.

“We might get lashings for this,” Thor chuckles, wading around in the water. It’s not so deep that his golden shoulders aren’t kissed by the sun.

“Might?” Loki says, sarcastic. “I know _I_ most definitely will.”

Thor pauses at that, and then lifts another wad of mud close to Loki’s face, “Here.”

“I’m not _eating_ that, you stupid—”

“No!” Thor laughs and lets the clump of sodden dirt plop back into the water. “Here, let’s put it on your skin.”

Loki’s eyebrows jump up in surprise.

Thor bites his lip, the only way to put stop to that arrogant brash grin, and quickly pulls off his own sopping red and grey tunic only to toss it onto the dry bank.

Loki watches as he swipes a handful of the wet dirt against his bare chest and turns towards the sun where the glistening mix dries in the heat to leave behind smooth clean natural armour. 

“Look!” 

And Loki treads closer, Thor reaches out to tap a thumbprint of mud across his nose. 

“It won’t hurt as much with this,” Thor leaves handprints all over Loki’s soaked shirt as he gets it over his head. Compared, Loki feels inadequate in his smallness, neither yet as muscled nor wide as Thor. But still he is not extinguished by this feeling of being not enough. Instead, as Thor swipes Loki’s pale back with a thick coating, his skin cannot help but turn to fire.

And yet, he _trembles._

“Thor,” Loki starts, somehow hesitant, unsure of this new wriggling want that surfaces in him. “They will see.”

“Who?” Thor dismisses, “Just use your magic to cover it, if you think the disciplinarian will notice. He’s blind as can be. Here, now me.”

Thor’s fingers curl around the base of Loki’s neck, to twist him around so they are facing each other. The calmly lapping water is at their waists in this dune, the afternoon sun so bright it turns the surface of the lake into a mirror. Loki looks up into Thor’s water softened face, a few wet tendrils of gold turned mud-coloured hair sticking to his eyelashes, the sun behind his head. For a moment, there is no one else. 

Loki is filled. Cannot help but smile, even though there isn’t anything funny. The bugs in his stomach turn to butterflies and he feels every tiny wing flap. 

What _is_ this?

Then, Thor turns away, back facing Loki, and Loki looks upon him. Really _looks_ , as if searching for a flaw that he knows is not there. The only blemishes are the ones Loki puts there, his pale long fingers gliding down the edges of Thor’s shoulder blades, waiting to get cut. 

“Mmh,” Thor hums. Loki supposes it is because of the pleasant clash of cool mud against sun-baked skin. His thumbs curl and press deep into Thor’s ribs, wondering if his brother is just as tender.

Thor’s voice sends vibrations down Loki’s veins when he speaks, “We can lie down to dry and be back behind the gates before even _Heimdall_ knows!”

Oh, but his brother was so fun when he tried to be naughty. There was no place Heimdall did not see. Except into minds.

“Thor,” Loki admonishes, but it is a whisper barely audible, his trembling so much more pronounced. 

They make their way back to the shallows.

And this is where the innocent memory veers off course. As they lie on their stomachs, letting the calming mud dry. Loki’s mind wanders.

A hot feeling of desire wrings him into something tight and twisted, only to squeeze him out as droplets of filthy sweat into the deep sea of a fantasy. Something Loki knows Thor would never understand if ever discovered.

Loki stifles a gasp against the embarrassment. That he allows himself to flee reality only to lose himself in the imagined feeling of being rolled over by eagerness, Thor’s hands clasped firmly around his wrists. And then he is down upon his back amongst the swaying reeds with his brother on top of him in a firm embrace. Loki groans, “ _Thor._ ”

“Loki,” Thor pushes himself up and breathes out, warm puff blooming against the side of Loki’s neck. An airy chuckle only weighed down by a possessive sort of growl which tickles across the soft underside of Loki’s chin. 

“I love you.”

Loki chokes, because even in a fantasy he cannot bear to hear this. But there is something so deliciously sweet in hearing it all the same. You only hurt the ones you love. 

“Don’t say such things.”

“But why?” Thor’s forehead is a solid weight pressed against his collarbone, hair wet and sandy draped atop Loki’s shoulder. His large hands are at Loki’s sides, smoothing soft mud up and down his ribcage, then higher across his heart. 

A cloud passes overhead and it’s so startlingly cool that Loki thinks he’ll never dry. He is cold in the silhouette of a warmth he longs to embrace. 

Loki digs fingernails into Thor’s back, and Thor’s chest lands upon his. They are stuck together, face to face, and it is only natural that Thor wants so much an explanation that he trails a muddy finger down Loki’s lips until they part. 

“Hnff,” Loki’s head falls back to hit the ground in bliss as that cursed finger works magic upon him, drawing a stripe down the center of his body until it dips into his navel. Both Thor’s hands spread on either side of it, thumbs falling hard into the deep lines of Loki’s hips, two trails meant to collide, only to catch on belt loops. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Loki pants, shivering even as he thinks, _It is the only time I don’t wish to lie._

******

_He is just a stain on your life,_ Says a voice unlike any voice Thor has heard. It cuts through the visage, rips away the knowledge that comes when seeing with Loki’s eyes. It is a multitude of voices, a symphony of reason and Chaos, the words of thousands that have come before; the Cube.

 _Why not just wipe him out?_ It asks.

And Thor cannot speak so he thinks as loudly as he can—

Loki, always by Thor’s side in battle, wiping out enemies whenever he’d asked.

His Brother, who pulls pranks that sometimes backfire and lead to chastisement. But Loki always took his dues in good stride. Always took the time clean things up, wipe the dirt off Thor’s face after pushing him down.

The smell of sweet grass and Loki’s smile, so large and wonderful a thing. Thor had never found another worth admiring, not even his own. Dirt sprayed against the backs of their knees from riding for long hours, dirt on the backs of their capes as they lay down to look at the stars, mud on their skin as they basked in the sun.

Loki’s lie about the death of the Allfather, a truth untold for the greater good. Always trying to wipe the slate clean. Go back to zero. A King who would not stand on someone else’s shoulders, a better King than Thor. 

_You could be King, if you got rid of him. If Loki weren’t here, you could rule._

No, he can’t.

If Thor does not keep Loki in his sights then he will disappear. Because Loki is always trying to wipe himself away and it is Thor’s job to undo whatever mischief he does.

A hand gliding through the dirt to cover up a heart. Thor’s finger, digging in to recover it.

Loki, letting go of Gungnir the King’s spear, to fall into oblivion. Thor, being stabbed through by its power to traverse the rips of the realms.

Loki, sticking out his tongue. Loki’s tongue inside Thor’s mouth. The moment it slips out, Thor _knows_ he should follow. Because they _must_ be equals, even if it’s wrong, it’s not right if they are not. 

He, who is known to be the strongest in all of Asgard, persistently needing to be tied to someone who desperately wants to be free. 

Because it is not possible to escape heartache when you come to know that someday you will become greater, more important than the very person who is exactly that to you. To watch him be pushed away by Thor’s very being, by not his own doing, and yet, his own doing. 

There is a paradox. If you love someone until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love. It’s not strange, in that sense, the way they go through the motions.

They have lived too long together to be apart for more. Loving Loki is a wonderfully wily trick, like trying to hold down a bit of shine, a piece of light bouncing off some unknown surface. Cup your hand over it and it won’t go out.

Thor cannot look into a dark pit of danger without wanting to light it up all the way through and then jump in. He cannot look upon Loki, so lost and cruel, and still not see and smell and touch the veins of greatness that have spidered out on his person like lightning veins in a midnight sky. His Brother, brilliant jagged greatness. 

His Brother, lusting for power, standing atop a raw need to make all those who’d betrayed him kneel in dirt or blood, caring not which. 

Longing to be loved but more content to hate because it’s easier than reaching out only to get burned.

 _It could be so much more,_ the Cube suggests instead and shows Thor what he could do to make it so.

 _ **Take it**_ , a million voices whisper as one. 

It turns Thor’s mind away and he is pushed out, lost somewhere else so that the Cube can fill his head with thoughts and ideals that are his own and yet not his own.

******

“Your friends come.”

Thanos strokes back Thor’s hair to reveal ice white eyes. 

“Let Death claim them one by one, a sacrifice in the name of Thanos, and the name of Love.”

******

In the deep of space a curtain of stars stirs, like a simple breeze slipping through a window, ruffling soft drapery on a calm night. But they do not have patience to become silent intruders, to merely slither through. It’s time to fight.

Loki folds fingers of both hands between the edges and _rips_ apart to reveal morning’s light.

******

Turbulence rocks Stark Shuttle as it goes soaring through the torn pathway that connects Earth’s sky with this—this empty desolate place. This belt of forgotten debris, a crumbled corner of the universe perfect for housing the broken and the damned.

“Everyone alive?” Steve asks, cracking open one eye behind his helmet. 

“Jarvis is running diagnostics checks as we speak,” Tony says, putting shining suit hands in front of the console. 

“Cross referencing with the previous co-ordinates, now!” 

Well it wouldn’t be a total surprise to Steve, if they turned up in the completely wrong location. He’s kind of gotten used to being displaced.

But the computer runs through its checks, and all around him, the rest of team gets their personal bearings back. Agents Romanov and Barton are out of their strapped seats right away. Not phased in the least they’ve just been launched into space. Considering the circumstances, their stoicism is more impressive. Barton reaches up to get some of the new surveillance equipment online, lights coming to life, and Romanov’s boots pounding as she stalks towards cargo bay. 

It must show on Steve’s face that he needs something to do, a duty to perform in order to be useful, because Romanov gives him a pointed look.

“Watch him,” She says under her breath and she passes Steve’s seat. Well, considering he’s sitting with the world’s number one dealer in ego, a man who turns into a huge green rage monster, and a trickster alien magician who’d tried to take over Earth— that could mean _anyone._

Okay, more to get done then.

“How you feeling?” Steve asks Dr. Banner, wondering briefly if the sheen of sweat on the man’s brow is something to get nervous about. 

“Incredible,” The man replies as he swipes a sleeve against his forehead, “Can you believe it? We’re the first people to ever travel so far, to the middle of our solar system!”

“Yeah, I think _I_ was the first,” Tony pipes up from the front, fingers tapping against controls at high speed, “if I remember correctly—”

“I only care about who’s the last one standing,” Steve declares, the mission’s objectives swimming back into focus. “We’ve got Missing Persons here, and Thor.”

“And He whom courts Death…” Loki’s rough voice comes as he lifts his bowed head, resembling a ram rearing back to strike. “You forget this will be no simple task.” 

“Okay,” Tony spins on those metal heels and leans against one sleek wall that has Stark product advertisements littering its surface. Only he would choose to include something so frivolous. “Why do you keep calling the big baddy that? I thought his name was Thanos.”

Steve watches Loki grin, a wide thing so perfect it seems fake. “Force of habit. We dared not speak his name, before.”

“ _Courts_ death, though?” Tony lets out a laugh and Steve frowns. “What’s he going to do after, marry Genocide?”

“I know not why. Most likely he takes your people for sacrifice,” Loki smirks and sits back, but it’s obvious even this simple movement strains his muscles. His leather coat creaks. “Perhaps he wishes to keep a collection. But Death does love souls who put up a good fight.”

“What?” Bruce says, unclipping his own seatbelts and a barely there glower is starting to appear. 

“Yes,” Loki hisses, fingers clawing his spread knees as he casts an amused gaze upon the set of them, “I know well how delicious it is to break your spirits.” Tony’s weapons charging is a high-pitched sound that fills the air, “To _kill_ you **_pests—_** ”

“ _STOP!_ ” Steve shouts, standing up and holding his hands out. “Enough, alright?”

The resulting silence is stifling.

“Confirmation complete,” Jarvis announces. Looks like they’re in the right place this time. “Pinpointing location of Avenger Operative Thor.”

There is a second of stress-filled anticipation before, “Negative. Thor is unable to be found. Shall I send a scan for the Tesseract?”

“Yes!” Tony grits out, obviously frustrated, he bangs one of the screens which shows only the projection of a lifeless plain.

“Maybe the system doesn’t work?” Steve suggests and gets an answering dubious look in reply. As if Stark technology is above malfunctioning.

Loki is chuckling, “Death casts a shroud that turns your petty machines useless.”

Steve presses his lips together, brows worrying in a thick wrinkle. “What do you mean—are you telling me ‘Death’ is an actual being?”

Loki cocks his head, “To Thanos, yes. But he only sees what he wants. And what he wants, is Death.”

Bruce blinks and swallows at Steve’s side, fists unclenching as he asks, “And is um, _Death_ going to show up to distract him? Preferably in something frilly?”

Loki does not answer. His eyes go far, far away as he looks out the porthole. And Steve can see that he isn’t restraining his hands from throwing curses at them. He’s holding onto his knees which are shaking very, very badly.

Steve sighs, “At least Death’s something I’m familiar with.”

“Excuse me, but this is too bizarre.” Tony stalks forward, heavy metal boots clanging against the small strip floor between passenger seats. “Why can’t the universe work how _we_ say it should, just once? I’m getting tired of finding out we’re the nobodies of a full blown war!”

“A single soldier can make all the difference.” Steve replies, and takes up his shield in one firm hand. 

“Yeah, well,” Bruce says in this quiet sardonic voice, “Now we’ve got a whole asteroid belt to march.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do.”

******

Loki closes his eyes, the natterings of mortals fraying on his most precious nerves. Ripping open a door, even one so well-used, is more taxing than he wants to admit. He would not be able to fight Thanos alone this way, but the thought of fighting alongside the Avengers makes his teeth ache in want of a foe to bite.

The tip of his tongue traces the sharp edge of his incisors and he breathes deep. Deep enough so that every part of him moves, up and down, a calming procession of waves to crash over him and wash away the tension pulling apart space and time creates.

Thor, the limb cut from him like a branch of Yggdrasil’s universe. A whole world of hurt.

The machine’s brain keeps calling for Thor and the Tesseract with no result. They search blindly.

The silly Humans begin planning strategies, as if their small minds can contend with the concepts they face. No matter. It’s better this way. That they remain an insular team, a set of coins to be tossed by his hand. The Avengers, landing where they need in order to right the wrongs that await their pathetic brand of judgement. 

It is better this way, to stand alone. There is no one like him in all the nine realms and perhaps beyond. 

A sharp pain swivels his eyes to roll back for just a moment. A lingering effect of the contract that damned Chitauri henchman had placed on him, in the name of Thanos. He would rip its ugly touch out if he did not abhor the thought of resembling Odin. Though it is with irony that Loki thinks he would still see more.

It is a wise father that knows his own child. It’s too bad he hadn’t bothered to care.

“No, to the left.” Loki says out of the blue, knowing his advice splinters the conversation. “We must go this way.”

That insipid mortal woman, Romanov, passes a critical eye over him. “How do you know?

“Even SHIELD’s tracking devices aren’t nearly that precise,” Barton confirms suspicion, not even bothering to look away from the surveillance screens.

Loki wants to laugh. Humans are so very limited by their toys. But he would not reveal the depth of his tarnish, that he has been ruined by a hand not his own. They would not know that he feels the draw of the Cosmic Cube, even now, because he’d sworn service in order to take vengeance on a world that had irreversibly blackened his life. The day Thor was banished was the day Loki knew he would follow.

They are on the same path, the two of them, Thor always just ahead.

“It is Thor. I feel him. As though I do not know where I end and he begins.” This is the feeling that pulls. Two beings strung together on the same invisible dark thread, connecting two bright lights.

There is a pause of silence.

The Man of Iron speaks foolishly yet again, “So when you say things like that? It _kinda_ blurs the line of brotherly love, if you know what I’m saying.”

“Really?” Romanov raises an eyebrow. “ _Thor?_ ”

“He’s not my brother,” Loki spits bitterly, aghast that they should ever think he cared, “No such line exists.”

For when passion is the ultimate form of suffering, no boundary can be drawn to encompass such pain, such sweet utter longing, built strong by every fold of space. No line could ever be written, in all the sands of Time, to stop the force of gravity that chains he and Thor together.

There is an annoying whisper that carries from Stark to the Hulk’s human form. “I guess what they say about mythological gods is true.”

“What do they say?” That pathetically naive Captain asks. 

“Cap’, just Google it. Google _everything._ ”

“Hold on,” Barton waves a hand to halt the numbing conversation, “I’m getting readings on the SHIELD cams! We’re up!”

And just like that, their ridiculous comforting chatter falls away into a sombre determination. Loki sits straighter, rubbing thumb against forefinger in an impatient fashion. This is where he must be extra vigilant, letting the Avengers take the reins, for now. He will stay back, reading the patterns of where the coins fall. What prices must be paid.

The Shuttle pulls ahead to a cluster of asteroids that could dwarf the Earth if compared. The fragmented space rocks twist and turn, some slow as glaciers, some quick and dangerous. Built into the concave of a crater the size of Asgard’s most prominent citadel, stands a simple base similar to the looks of SHIELD’s operations, lit up at select intervals by a telltale blue light.

There’s a gasp as the cameras zoom in.

“Men and woman are down there! Just walking around!” 

“That’s not all,” Romanov answers the Captain’s shock, “They’re armed.”

Iron Man’s mask slides shut with a metallic clunk, triangle of light on his chest emanating its sharp shrill sound.

“So are we.”

“Wait,” Hulk man shakes his head and gestures to the screen. Everyone tenses.

Loki takes a deep drag of air that does nothing to cool the burning hate which spreads with such vengeance it threatens to shrivel his lungs. 

Thanos, coming over the horizon of the craggy surface, Cube in hand glowing so harsh that it sends the camera’s picture into overexposure at each downward swing of his arm. 

And Thor. 

His majestic red cape now blacker than the deepest hole in space, flowing out to blot out stars in the distance. Golden hair that wafts over his armoured shoulders, waving up into the endless night. Thor, with eyes of an electric storm.

He comes to stand next to Thanos, who grins, a gentle purple hand caressing Thor’s jaw that sets off an adoring smile in chain reaction.

Something like a feral animal that lives low inside Loki’s gut gnashes its teeth with _rage._

“Is it Thor? That’s a new look,” Iron Stark observes.

The Captain scowls, “Can’t tell if this is better or worse.”

“Something is wrong.” Loki tells them, only hears himself uttering the words in a disconnected way. His insides burn out, leaving ash that grows so cold there is nothing more than a monster that could survive it.

“He wields not Mjölnir.”


	5. Chapter 5

_‘GREETINGS. WE ARE THE AVENGERS. WE HAVE COME TO PAY RANSOM. PLEASE STAND DOWN AND WAIT AS WE DISEMBARK THE CRAFT. THANK YOU AND HAVE A NICE DAY.’_

Jarvis is set to play this polite little transmission. It circles along on repeat as one by one the Avengers descend into the hangar. It’s time to prepare for ejection.

This is the tricky bit. There’s no way trying to land a billion dollar Shuttle on a flimsy piece of space rock littered with victims suffering from an extreme case of Stockholm Syndrome and a huge purple alien with a predilection for wooing Death is a _good idea._

Also doesn’t help that Loki disappeared from the Shuttle’s helm only to reappear on the video screens, a small thing, superimposed against the overwhelming Thanos. You know, _before_ the Avengers could even form a plan of attack.

So now they’re just getting fired out of the missile banks instead.

Wonderful.

“Yeah, I’m not so sure about this,” Bruce murmurs even as the team gathers in the overstuffed hangar, strapping on gear. Was it really necessary to bring so much _stuff?_ The emergency lights are flicking on and off in an encouraging red at the odd interval and there’s a low hum that sets the back of his teeth to vibrate.

“Relax, Doc. Readings indicate we’ve got atmosphere down there. Suits are not required.” Agent Romanov tilts her head with the barest smirk, “Except in Stark’s case.”

Tony laughs mockingly from behind his mask as it shuts close with a clang.

Agent Barton is busy strapping all sorts of weapons to various clips on his person and Captain Rogers is already lying down in the make-shift cannon, ready to go. It’s all a big circus trick now. Watch the amazing Avengers as they perform death-defying astronautical tactics. Romanov hits the console and all of a sudden there’s a _whoosh_ and there goes Captain America, out into the stars.

Panic starts to climb its way up Bruce’s spine.

“Maybe one of us should hang back. Watch the ship,” Bruce tries again and gets slapped in the shoulder by Tony’s overpowered suit hand in response. 

“Did you _see_ that Thanos guy? Almost as big as the Hulk! We need you out there.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. Me. Out there.” 

Another _whoosh_ and Barton is gone. Romanov slips in after. Tony’s hand hovers above the console and as she braces herself and gives a curt nod, she too is gone.

“Your turn,” Tony gestures to the empty spot where he should lay and Bruce gets that queasy feeling which usually preludes the change, like he’s left an iron on somewhere back in his brain and he can’t go back to check. Turn it off.

The panel lid hisses shut overtop Bruce and the last thing he hears is Tony saying, “Don’t worry big guy, I’ll lock up.”

******

The game transforms into full out battle the moment the Hulk lands, his fists come slamming down onto the ground. The force is so incredible that it sends a deep crack fissuring out along the uneven terrain until, unable to resist, the asteroid _splits._

Shards of rock the size of mountains jettison through the air sending the Avengers and Human soldiers to scatter alike, flinging themselves bodily against strongholds to avoid being cast off into space. Some are not so lucky, so vapid in their possessed states; they don’t even bother to scream as they float away.

Loki sneers out of annoyance. 

But the timely disruption does nothing to deter the spellbinding words that spill from purple lips. Thanos speaks and his voice carries easily in its deepness, a sound which sinks overtop the frenzy like a dark heavy blanket, wrapping Loki in disgust.

“Oh how long it’s been, Loki of Asgard. And look, you’ve brought me a gift.”

“Not a gift,” Loki snarls softly. His eyes strain to look up into Thanos’ face, for he cannot bring himself to tilt his head upwards, to acknowledge how very small he is when compared. “I bring my vengeance upon you.”

But Thanos does not react to his threat, for Loki has never been very good at threats. He lifts one oversized hand and pulls back his hood, revealing eyes of starlight. So be it, then. They must face a being infused with the same pure shine of the Cube. 

“And now, I have a gift in return. It’s only fair. You killed my henchman and good ones are so very hard to find. You know this one, don’t you?”

Loki looks upon Thor, really _looks_ , as though the God of Thunder is moments away from calling forth Mjölnir. Like this is just the calm before a very beautiful storm, where Thor’s hammer will go crashing into Thanos’ bulbous knees and Thor will look to Loki, grin and say, _‘You’re late.’_

Sentiment. Such fantasy is a disease where romantic notions and full blown pain verge. He will not cross that line. But the lies he tells himself are so much easier to bear when the truth isn’t standing right before him. The essence of his brother is pushed out, leaving this dark husk of the real Thor, unworthy of his mighty weapon, tainted. Ruined.

Loki can’t stop the way air keeps rushing in and out of his nostrils, the raw feeling of it sawing back and forth. And when Thanos speaks it is with words that Loki feels like the thickest coating of tar on his soul.

“He alone will make you wish for something sweet as pain.”

Thor cocks his head, eyes catching Loki’s, and smiles.

******

Steve wipes away grit from his eyes long enough to see debris the size of a skyscraper barrelling straight for him. There’s a split second that he considers throwing his shield at it before a beam of light explodes against the flying rock that sends it careening the other way.

He gets a glimpse of the gleaming suit of Iron Man as he comes blasting through the shower of rocks from the direction of Stark Shuttle. Iron Man grabs a couple of drifting struggling Humans as he flies by.

“Captain,” He says as he touches down, dropping the possessed man and woman in his grasp to the rocky floor of the asteroid. But the two Missing Persons aren’t happy to see them. In fact, they act like mindless beasts, immediately diving for some of the many discarded weapons that litter the ground and taking aim.

“Looks like peaceful negotiations are out of the question!” Steve grimaces as he jumps in front of Tony to deflect the blue shots of light with his iridium shield. In the distance he can still hear the message from Jarvis still playing on loop.

A few more of the lumbering soldiers advance around them, closing in a tight circle. Steve can barely recognize their faces from the reports, all of their skin having been turned ashen gray with eyes bright and dead in hollow sockets. He steadies himself for the coming barrage when one hostile _jumps_ as if he’s just been rocketed off an oversized trampoline.

“Darn!” Steve curses, dodging out of the way just in time and knocking the descending man unconscious. “They can _fly._ ”

“I’d call that more of a small bound or… a giant leap.” Tony fires off a few weak energy pulses that effectively sends each soldier to dreamland. “Something’s definitely wrong here. These guys don’t look right.”

“Yeah,” Steve can feel a bead of sweat run down the side of his face. He wills his heart to keep its steady rhythm in the midst of being dropped into the middle of space to somehow launch a rescue, recovery, and take down mission all in one. 

Well, it’s not as if he isn’t up to the challenge.

“Get your computer to do its thing.”

“What _thing?_ ”

“Where it gets all the information!”

That’s when a large green finger appears just in front of them and _flicks_ one of the hostiles away. Hulk watches with a pleased grin when the woman goes splat against some rocks, falling limp, weapon useless. Terror flies straight down Steve’s spine and he’s already by her side, checking for a pulse.

“Oh _shit,_ ” Tony swears, immediately holding Hulk back from squashing the remaining people. 

“She’s dead.” Steve reports, feeling hollow. His hands clench into tight fists.

“Uh, yeah, and so is everyone else!” Tony shouts. “Zero life signs, not including us!”

Steve’s blood runs cold. Well, the mission just got a whole lot simpler.

“Let them have it, Hulk!” He can hear Tony yell over the sound of high pitched weapons. “We’ve just checked into the Space Zombie resort!”

******

“Now let’s not just sit around looking pretty, Agent Barton.”

Natasha somersaults into view from a spinning clump of rock just above Clint. He lowers his bow.

“Speaking of that, _Agent Romanov_ ,” He drags himself up from his high perch on an outcropping that was setting out to be a pretty good nest, “Before I started getting attacked, Loki was having a wonderful heart to heart with Thanos himself.”

“Let me guess—”

“Got a tracker arrow in on the big guy. That scattered them though.”

“You never let me guess. And Thor?”

“Yeah,” Clint sighs dramatically before an ironical smirk stretches his mouth, “Safe to say he has _heart._ He grabbed Loki by the throat and threw him like a javelin to another asteroid. Haven’t had visual since.”

“Is Thanos—” She asks, and he shakes his head.

“Headed towards the base,” He hikes one gloved thumb over his shoulder. “There’s something weird going on in there, that’s for sure.”

“Then I suppose we should go find out what that is.”

“Any word on what’s up with these Missing Persons?”

“Dead.” They share a look before Natasha turns away, reloading her pistols. “I don’t know what Thanos did to them, but now they’re walking around with Phase 2 style guns and _without_ pulses—” 

She interrupts herself by tossing a knife that buries itself deep in the eye socket of a possessed Human who straggled too close to their perch. “But now there’s too many of them and too few of us. We need to get that Cube.”

“And make these guys deader.” Barton skewers two more advancing hostiles with one arrow in quick succession. “Well what do you know? Assassins in space.” 

Natasha gives him a wry glance. Thanos did this on purpose. Baited them with victims to expose their weakness. Because if they were anything like normal people, how could they be expected to fight the very ones they’d come to save? It would be like fighting yourself. Impossible. Lucky thing though, that’s their expertise. SHIELD sure knows how to pick them.

In the far distance, explosions from Iron Man’s weapons are going off and every so often there’s the sound of rock being obliterated. The base is about twenty asteroids away and there are large pockets of soldiers littering each one. They’d never make it in time. Thanos would get away.

“So how are we gonna do this?” He asks quietly as they jump down, attracting the attention of more soldiers.

“Relax,” Natasha replies, “I’ve got this.”

She hits a remote that’s attached to her belt and a tiny innocuous beeping sound, like the alarm on a wristwatch, goes off. Clint raises an eyebrow but Natasha just holds up a hand. Wait for it. There’s a rumble that rents the air, and a telltale shockwave of a missile from the Shuttle being fired off. Heading straight for them. 

“Incoming,” Natasha warns with her usual stoicism, and they crouch to avoid the resulting impact which knocks various vacant-eyed soldiers off their feet or into the air.

“Quick, before they get their bearings back!” He gestures urgently and then they’re sprinting across the rocky terrain. But Natasha makes a sharp turn and leads him towards the explosion’s smoking crater instead. He watches as she hits another button on her belt and then disappears deep into the thick wall of smoke and dust.

“Nat!” Clint calls out, eyes scanning around in case a threat decides to leap out. “You know I don’t like not being able to see you!”

There’s the telltale hiss of a piece of Stark technology opening. Then an engine’s rev, loud as thunder.

A motorcycle with all the trimmings comes roaring out of the crater and breaks right at the edge, spraying rock and dirt into the air. Natasha revs the engine again, boot heels clipped overtop the pedals.

“Get on.” 

Clint pats her on the head as he jumps on the back, and she rolls her eyes. He steadies his knees on either side of her waist and pulls out a fresh arrow, ready to cover their backs. They peel away from the crater leaving thick plumes of dust in their wake as they go zooming off across the asteroid towards the base. 

Clint takes out three more soldiers before they’re gaining on the edge of the asteroid. 

“Uhh…” Clint shifts when Natasha steers the bike nearly horizontal to avoid being struck by high speed impulses of blue light. “Sixty feet gap, straight ahead, in case you don’t see it!”

“Relax, Clint!” Is her only smug warning before she makes the jump, “Remember Budapest!”

“Yeah,” He lets out one breathless burst of laughter, “Stop _reminding_ meeee—”

******

“I hope this doesn’t become a reoccurring theme.”

Loki says this with a groan and rubs filth from his face as he lays prone on his back, Thor towering over him. Quickly, Loki vanishes only to reappear farther away, crouched in defence. Thor stands awkwardly open in his stance, mere paces away from Loki in the middle of the fair-sized crater.

“Loki,” Thor says, voice a dark shatter, like an echo across a large divide. It drives an unassuming shard of glass straight through Loki’s heart. 

It _hurts._

“Your pathetic Avengers have come for you, Thor.” Loki smiles viciously against the sudden surprising pain, taunting. “So give up the act! I don’t have time to deal with you. Snap out of it and return to your precious Midgard!”

Thor frowns and looks mostly confused before he takes a few steps closer, his black velvet cape dusting his ankles. “Loki, the Cube showed me many things.” 

“Indeed?” Loki spits, eyes wild in their sockets. He looks anywhere but Thor, searching for the best strategy, the best way to gain the upper hand.

He does not want to _fight_ Thor. At least, not like this. Even without Mjölnir they are outmatched in strength. In a disconnected sense he knows this is a distraction, a piece of the game meant to keep him away from the real goal. Thor is a diversion to keep him occupied while Thanos absconds with the Cube, leaving them all on this belt of rocks to rot. 

What he wants is Thanos’ head on a stake. But he can hear the sounds of battle, and if Thor’s attention is focussed on him then perhaps the petty mortals have a chance at tipping the scales. 

Fate always did like Humans best.

Thor is closer now, hands outstretched. “I know what to do, Loki. I see now what you saw—”

“Be _quiet!_ ” Loki thunders, a hot rage overwhelming him with heat so intense that it seems to expand and expand and expand until it explodes out of him. He slaps Thor’s oafish hands away. 

“Get out of my way. Do not _talk to me—_ ”

He jerks violently at the touch of Thor’s insistent palms against his cheeks. 

“ _Thor,_ ” He hisses and out of their own accord, his fingers wrap around Thor’s wrists like shackles.

“Loki, cease your wily tongue! I’ve missed you.” Thor tells him, and these words punch him in the gut harder than any fist could. 

How harsh a feeling that absence must rend, Loki thinks bitterly. As if the sun could ever miss the darkness it so devoutly pushes away. 

“Have you,” Loki asks quietly, squeezing Thor’s wrists until his nails bite dents into the armour encasing them. 

Thor nods, heedless of his arm guards buckling under Loki’s grip. Those cold lightning coloured eyes flicker away for a moment before returning, hopeful. His face is open in a different way than Loki is used to seeing. A harmless moth, ready to be swallowed by a flame. 

How Thanos has _ruined_ him.

“Loki, I’ve been shown the truth.”

Loki disappears only to reappear and witness Thor embracing air, looking pitiful at the empty space he holds. He whips around and stares at Loki, face flushed and fooled.

“ _Ooh._ ” Loki pauses, eyes dragging their way up Thor’s body like desperate nails through dirt. 

“Oh, but I do _enjoy_ seeing you like this, Thor.”

He sidles nearer, hands aglow, and Thor allows him, seemingly content to stand and be admired. To let Loki come and toy with him all he wants, as if being submissive does not bother Thor. He actually cocks one hip, black cape sweeping Loki’s calves as Loki circles him like prey. Shorter burnt tendrils of blond hair fall into ice blue eyes full of almost childish amusement. 

_Don’t be stupid_ , Loki wants to say. _You’ve been ruined. You’re supposed to be **different.**_

He swallows as he looks upon this dark confidence. He throbs, everywhere. Blood rushing furiously through his fingers and ears, his teeth needing to breathe and feel the cold thin air. His lips pull back.

Loki is filled with a pounding sense of envy. That foolish golden Thor could ever wear servitude so well. The Cube has truly wiped away all traces of a sentimental God.

“Future King of Asgard,” Loki hisses angrily, “Filled with purpose greater than slumming with mortals and waiting for the throne to be handed to him on a platter. Now but a lowly servant.”

There is no answering glare from Thor, merely docile acceptance. This indifference sets the pit of Loki’s stomach _boiling._

“Tell me how it feels,” Loki whispers close, his lips burning at the thought of that stubble scraping across their tender blood-filled flesh. “…To crawl on your _knees_ before someone inferior to you.”

“I intend to find out.” Thor’s gaze flicks across the puzzle piece battlefield, as if he casts a line meant to hook Thanos. 

Loki seethes and the next breath he takes turns to spittle when he harshly says, “You will _never_ know as I do.”

Thor is no one’s bait but _his._

“Loki, why do you argue? Am I not more useful like this?” Thor asks, bright eyes cold in their pallid light. “I know things I knew not before. I know what to do now, to return us together—”

“Shut up, Thor!” Loki shouts, heaving with fury. 

Thor’s face contorts from pathetic to fierce in a scant second, “What is it? Am I not more likable to you this way? Thanos wants to destroy all Human life,” Thor says this in a matter-of-fact way, as though the thought does not offend his sensibilities in the slightest, “And I mean to help him. So don’t you see? We want the same thing. There is no reason for you to reject me.”

No. It’s _not_ the same thing. Not when it will destroy Thor too.

Oh, but he is a temptation, this Thor. Ready to kneel. Ready to serve.

Irony kisses Loki’s cheeks, makes him flush maddeningly. So very ironic, that he has spent so long starving for this very kind of connection. 

For now Thor is a feast of the very ideals he feeds on, an embodiment of a dark desire. That he could have Thor, by his side, protecting Loki from persecution, believing in him. _Believing a **lie.**_

And Loki is so very _hungry._

But he does not wish for Thor to know. Know the taste of true suffering and pain. Because that is what will happen, when his usefulness is spent or Thanos is defeated. Thor will wake up to a nightmare. He will not be Thor but Loki, a twisted angry thing contorted from a golden king, having to live with wretched mistakes. 

They both cannot stand on the same foundation, dipped in the same formula for immolation. This is not a game where they can just switch sides. Darkness next to darkness leaves nothing left to reach for. It must be one against the other, or there is no game at all.

Otherwise it isn’t _fun._

“Why do I reject you still?” Loki laughs, a sharp mocking thing that hurts even his own ears as he hears it, “One taste of mortality was enough for you! And now how easily you’ve fallen! Mighty Thor, serving an Other Worlder who _uses_ him to entice Death!”

Thor licks his lower lip and snorts, as if he wants to laugh as well. 

“And here I thought I was being used to entice _you._ ”

******

Loki’s maw gapes wide and furious.

His silver tongue searches for words, but it feels too thick for his own mouth, swollen with anger. How dare Thor suggest such a thing? How dare he even _consider_ himself to be an enticement, a lure that Loki would willingly fling himself upon?

The very idea of it fills the pit of Loki’s stomach with a sour feeling that spins wildly, gathering the strings of outrage and denial until it is a tightly wound ball of fury deep inside. The unexpected touch of salty tears in his eyes makes Loki snarl. Fight them back. 

How _dare_ Thor look at him that way? 

A sob rips low from Loki’s gut and he pants hoarsely, near-crazy and vulnerable in a way he’s only ever felt once before. Revealed.

Thor was never supposed to _see._

Thor takes advantage of this stupor to reach out and place palms on either side of Loki’s ribs. The simple touch sends a violent thrill shivering up Loki’s spine and he has to catch Thor by the inner elbows before he’s locked into place. Trapped.

“Has it worked?” Thor asks quietly, roughly, his metal-covered arms a strong support around Loki’s middle. “We can be together again, if you join me. Join Thanos.”

And one soft kiss is placed to the bridge of Loki’s nose, in the small dipping angle between brow and eye. It’s so sweet it hurts. Loki’s eyelashes sweep upwards, catching on Thor’s lips.

“I understand now. Humans live such meaningless small lives. It’s better just to take from them what they only squander.” Thor whispers to him, his hands spread across Loki’s back, underneath the green cascades of fabric, fingers fanned out like too-long grass bowed down. “I know my words mean little to you, Loki. But you came all this way. So, doesn’t that mean…?”

“Idiot,” Loki shakes his head, hating so desperately how he feels in Thor’s hands. 

Wanted. Real. 

“Did I affect a change of heart?” Thor asks and looks down at him then, with mouth curved up in the slightest of smiles. The kind of smile that comes at the end of very long journey, of a victory well won. One full of the most honest pride. It steals Loki’s breath, delicately chaps his lips like frost on the wings of an insect.

If he doesn’t look directly into Thor’s eyes he can almost believe it’s real.

There’s a lump in his throat, a clog of too many things he wants to say, but can’t, because it’s too much. It was never meant to be this much. He’s not meant to have anything. He can’t handle having _everything_ all at once only to know it will be ripped away.

He closes his eyes.

“Listen to me,” The words string together in a painful gasp that strips itself from Loki’s throat. He grabs fistfuls of blond hair and _yanks_ Thor’s face close. Nose to nose, he wants Thor to understand this deeply, intimately, so that he may never wonder again. He licks his lips and when he opens his eyes he makes certain they are refusing.

Because Thor cannot have him. Not like this.

What Thor thinks he wants is something swift and painful, like the sudden blameless sting of a bee who hurts himself worse than the one he pricks. 

“I’ve no heart to change.” 

But even as he mutters this, Loki does not stop Thor from crushing their chests together and relishing in the feel of Thor’s arms as they move downwards and— he bites his lower lip. The dig of Thor’s fingers into the backs of his upper thighs relentlessly undoes his composure, like a knot being unlaced and pulled from its grommets. Exposed.

“But Loki,” Thor says against his jaw, stubble scratching in red, “You have so _much_ heart.”

“Stop it, Thor,” Loki groans in shame, desperately wanting but desperately _hating._ His fingers curl uninhibited in Thor’s hair as hungry biting kisses are pressed down the side of his neck. 

“Not like this,” Loki whispers, trembling.

For unlike anyone else Loki has ever known, Thor has always been the only one to wear his true face. But when he looks up into Thor’s face now it is a stranger he sees. Thor’s cape falls around them, blackness that rivals the darkest night. How unfair it all is. That to hold what he truly wants in his hands it must be tainted by someone before him. Because this is _not_ Thor. Thor is not _his._ Never was. Never will be.

“I hate you,” Loki murmurs cruelly under his breath. A phrase made from a hot puff of air that ghosts across Thor’s throat before he’s biting at Thor’s jaw, roughly pulling golden hair so that Thor’s mouth fits against his own. 

_Can we go back in time?_ He thinks wretchedly. _I’d suffer a lifetime of silence in place of this._

His heart trips over itself in his chest and he clutches at Thor’s hair, throat, chest plate, and then digs thumbs into Thor’s chin to keep that full mouth open to taste. Pushes almost violently against Thor, as if they are two split images struggling to coalesce back into the one they’re meant to be. 

He can get drunk on this, if he’s not careful. But this could be the only time, the last time, that he will ever have Thor like this. Thor’s hands, cradling him so that he is bowed with the gentleness of it. Thor’s hips, pushing against his until Loki is leaning back against the crater’s ledge. 

“Mmmhggff,” Thor’s groan morphs into a growl against Loki’s mouth. He finds purchase on the slip of Loki’s garments, fingers hooking behind spread thighs. 

“Loki, please, let’s—” He pants but Loki does not allow him to finish, moving in to kiss him deeply, wildly, curving one knee to lock around Thor’s hip. 

He fiercely sucks on Thor’s tongue, hot and soft and curling like gold and silver droplets of a dying sun falling through leaves. His whole body is taken over. He can’t breathe. Can’t breathe against the heat of it, the rough way Thor cups Loki’s lower body to himself, the awful way he’s not real. Stars forever pushed far apart.

This is the last chance he has to love Thor, truly love, as something other than the ugly monster he’s become. And with Thor’s beautiful stormy eyes swept away by the Cube’s blaze, he can go unnoticed, invisible, if only for a moment. Because he hates Thor, so _much,_ for as long as the sands of Time stretch and as much as it weighs. He does not want Thor to see that he _loves_ him too. So much that Loki cannot _breathe_ around the burden of it. A black hole at the center of his chest.

The sweetest pain is seeing a flash of lightning and wondering if thunder will ever come again.

******

A well-placed burst of energy blasts them apart.


	6. Chapter 6

“Yeah, uh, sorry Thor!” 

Tony tries to finish this very important well-thought out dialogue between nursing a healthy dose of disbelief and hovering out of Thor’s reach. 

“I know you’re a demigod of another planet, but you’re not above the law. Annnd, I’m pretty sure what you were doing to your brother? Constitutes as _Sexual Harassment.”_

“You’re one to talk,” Steve makes it to the edge of the crater, out of breath and streaked with dirt.

Tony makes a face but the comedic effect is lost behind his Iron Man mask. He makes sure to bank quickly, taking up a defensive position opposite to the Captain on the raised crater rim.

Thor is practically roaring with anger, teeth bared and cape smoking from the singe. Really, he shouldn’t be so angry. Tony knows for a fact that the Asgardian can take at _least_ five times that much charge.

“Stay out of this, foolish mortals!” Thor bellows across the divide as though he wants to make a long distance call with his vocal chords. Then he actually has the gall to reach down, snatch Loki by the scrap of his cape, and start to _drag him off._ Caveman style.

“Hey!” Tony shouts, unnerved at being ignored, just as a deafening unintelligible _“GRWARRRR”_ echoes across the terrain.

He and Captain America are literally overshadowed by the Hulk as he jumps overhead. He lands straight down into the pit and knocks Thor away with one slap of his hand. The poor guy goes ping-ponging against two smaller asteroids before landing in a singed frazzled heap on the far side of the rock.

Of course, _that’s_ when Loki starts screaming in outrage.

“Stay out of this, you _vile roaches!_ I have everything under control!”

Tony shakes the suit’s head and sighs, “Well now I see the family resemblance.” 

“None shall touch Thor but **ME** —”

Captain America blinks owlishly behind his helmet mask, “Er, what _kind_ of touching does he mean? Because um, the stuff from before, that won’t be a problem—”

Loki sends magically-charged daggers flying at them in reply.

The Cap grimaces as he blocks the high speed blades with his shield. Hulk is hanging around looking confused in the middle of the crater until there’s a groan and Thor pushes himself up from his own Thor-shaped indentation. 

“Now see here, petty little men!” Thor curses, flipping his black cape over his head in a fuss. “I would not have you attack Loki!”

Tony rolls his eyes and the Captain throws out an obvious question here, “Are we _sure_ he’s been brainwashed by the Tesseract?”

Thor roars again and jumps and oh, _damn it_ — Pulls a freaking asteroid straight out of the sky, quick enough to arc it down with powerful arms where it slams straight onto the Hulk’s head. 

The rock splinters apart like crumbs of week-old bread being crunched in a fist, Hulk’s green limbs spread out underneath. When Thor looks up, crouched on top the rubble of that asteroid, there is an excited lethal smirk stretching his lips.

Loki starts to cackle. 

He vanishes, the echoes of laughter still loud and clear.

Tony sees red.

“Hey, if Thor _wants_ the crap kicked out of him— ‘cause that’s what he’s asking for here, am I right?” He loads weapons to seventy percent, suit hands glowing fiercely. Ready to settle this score that’s been brewing all mission. 

“I’m _more_ than happy to take on domestic disputes. I’ll suggest couples counselling first.” His missile launchers protrude with a mechanical sound just over his shoulders. “Ass-kicking, second.”

You just don’t go around flattening Iron Man’s friends without facing equal retribution. He has too few to _not_ feel overprotective. And he’s in the _business_ of protection. He’s the _leading export._

The sound of missiles rocketing forwards is like the sweet long note on the end of a very fast song. Thor doesn’t even bother to dodge and the explosion is nothing short of breathtaking.

There’s only a second of contentment to drink in before Thor’s elbow is connecting with Iron Man’s chin and _ouch_ —the feel of crumbling metal against skin.

A blue wave of power blasts the two grappling men clear of each other. 

“Calm down!” Steve shouts, and Tony barely hears it past the ringing of fried circuitry. The Cap is steadying the Phase 2-like weapon he’d grabbed off a soldier earlier.

“I think now’s as good a time as any to remind you we need to get Thor back to normal, not have you turn into a loose cannon!”

Tony’s ready to argue this point vehemently before Steve continues with, “Also, I have no idea what you said before and probably owe Fury ten dollars.”

Tony takes a deep breath and chuckles, knows the other man is right. Jarvis’ scans indicate that Bruce is fine and dandy, if not taking a Hulk-sized nap under the rock.

_“ **Loki!** ”_

Thor’s voice rips, dark and furious as he stands tall. His face is dirt-smeared, but he still cuts an impressive bright silhouette against the endless stars. “Loki, show yourself!” 

“What, Thor?” Loki appears, in flowing attire pristine, horned crown glittering into new life.

“Come! Let us join Thanos and rid the world of these pests, in the name of Death and of Love!”

The _dialogue._ If Tony had a dime for every time—

But Loki’s body flickers and suddenly there’s fifty of him, all with thin-lipped smiles, glaring at Thor. Glaring at them. That’s when Captain America shakes his head in disapproval and throws his shield. It goes spinning at breakneck speed through each spectre until the real one gets slammed in the gut and Loki’s knocked into the dirt like the last domino in a long line.

Thor’s face contorts in rage but he’s tossed high into the air as Hulk explodes from beneath his blanket of rocks. The Asgardian falls in a tight curve and lands right on top of Loki, who starts laughing insanely.

“Is it just me?” Tony watches the hot mess unfolding right before him with scepticism. Nothing is ever going to surprise him now. “Or does Loki still seem like the unbalanced one even though evil Thor, with a serious case of milky-eye by the way, is _right there._ ”

Hulk has started flinging huge boulders of rock every which way.

“Oh, darn this! There’s no time.” Steve re-slings his shield and hefts his weapon. “Attack?”

“Attack,” Tony grins, and then he’s shooting up, thrusters on high power as he circles around to gain Hulk’s attention and stretch arms out with fists ready to fire. 

“Let ‘em _both_ have it!” 

All three of them are poised, it’s like slow motion almost, kind of brilliant. Jarvis sends all the visuals and information skittering across his screens at a speed almost incomprehensible, but everything seems perfectly fluid, Tony knows what’s happening and what to do. Hulk is on the downwards trajectory of a jump, about fourteen feet high, eleven to the north-west and closing in. The blast from the Tesseract weapon is a projectile wave of light, curving in at approximately 132 miles per hour. Someone’s going to have to tell Steve that helmet looks ridiculous.

Thor is bodily holding Loki down, but Loki’s gathering some crazy gold ball of magic or something, and it expands in his hand, ready to be flung—

Tony’s weapons are at ninety percent and climbing. It’s going to be the perfect free for all.

And that’s when a huge explosion goes off at their feet, destroying the asteroid they fight on and each one of them ends up smacked flat against different floating pieces of rock, clinging to stay on solid ground.

******

There’s the sound of a bike’s engine as Hawkeye and Black Widow go soaring across the gap between asteroids, teammates scattered below.

******

Natasha just cracks her neck and hits the lever on the motorcycle’s controls to contract the still-smoking cannon. The tires collide with porous space rock and Natasha brakes hard, causing her and Clint to drift in a loud skid before swerving around the rim of a deep crater Hulk’s crawling out of.

“It was getting _really_ hard to think while the children were whining.” She says, quirking one eyebrow as the Hulk spills onto the path in front of them, dazed and angry.

“Did you see the look on Loki’s face?” Clint laughs and it’s a good sound to hear. “Admit it, you enjoyed that!”

“Yeah, of course,” She replies even though she didn’t see. Never been able to keep up with Clint’s sight, she continues with the barest hint of a smirk, “He’s a raging dick.”

“Hey Jade Jaws, you’re with us.” Clint shouts and waves an arm. Then shoots at arrow at the Hulk to get his undivided attention. The overgrown green man shakes his head like a dog trying to rid himself of a flea.

“Try to keep up!”

Natasha hits the gas.

******

Loki lies there staring up into the stars, for just a moment, perhaps until the world stops spinning. But it’s impossible to wait that long. He’s up and scrabbling against the delicately fragmented asteroid, crawling around on his forsaken slowly rotating rock to get to Thor.

The Man of Iron hovers into view just as Loki’s pulling himself up past a protrusion. 

“Oh, joy.” Loki sneers. 

The hideous red and gold suit lifts one hand and Captain America waves from its grip.

“Even better,” Loki’s eyes narrow at his own sarcasm. “Move aside, Avengers.”

“Not so fast,” The Captain says in that idiotic faithful voice. 

Loki awaits the impending spiel, the speech that his evil deeds will not triumph, that his plot to turn Thor against them will be thwarted by justice. It would be so fitting, to hear this now. That his inevitable betrayal has been a curse lingering indefinitely in the backs of their minds. 

Captain America takes a deep breath. The air is so thin here. How tiny their lungs must be to be filled by so little. 

How easy it must be for these creatures to fly into battle, to fight without having to fight themselves. Unburdened by the depth of emotion Loki drowns in, unbound by needs and wants and dreams that tie Loki so tight , so deep inside, that he scarcely believes he’s ever been free. 

“It’s said that there are no bad men, only bad leaders. That’s a Human thing, but I think we’ve met someone who proves the sentiment right. I’m hoping you see that too.” This man nods resolutely, so earnest. 

“We’re going after Thanos,” The Iron Stark says, “That’s _our_ job. And you’re going to recalibrate Thor’s cognitive network.”

“What?” Loki’s teeth clack together.

The Captain grins, “It means hit him in the head. Hard!”

Loki smiles, suddenly and pleasantly charmed. He pulls himself up fully and stands. “Then leave Thor to me.”

The mirth in Iron Man’s mechanical-like voice carries even as he and Captain America rocket away in an explosion of energy. 

“I think he _likes_ that idea, sadistic bastard!”

******

Hulk tears apart the landscape so much that following behind him is a little bit like cruising down a highway. Except for the odd moments when they’re fired at by soldiers and Clint has to put exploding arrows through their eyeballs.

Hulk peels ahead, knuckles carving out potholes as he goes, happy to smash the base that’s so close they can taste it. Natasha weaves between the holes carefully, and it’s not Clint’s fault he has to tighten his knees at each swerve. He gets a hard slap on the knee in reply. He smirks.

The joyride takes an unexpected turn when huge feet slam directly into their path.

Natasha manages to hit the brakes a split second before the ground is exploding in front of them, sending rocks shooting straight up, the floor dropping out right underneath their wheels. The bike cants horizontally, sparks dragging out in hot torrents that catch Clint’s arm and _burn._ There’s a screech of spinning tires shredding apart as he swings and jumps, hurtling himself away from the crash.

He gets a good look at Thanos up close and personal, smirking amidst the chaos, before watching Natasha go flying, caught by a trajectory too powerful to break.

Clint’s body moves before his brain can catch up, the arrow he fires after Natasha strikes her in the thigh and her face is a soundless grimace of pain as she grabs the cable attached to it, tight.

It’s not enough. 

Thanos strikes out with one meaty arm and there’s a flash of blue light that practically blinds Clint before he feels his feet lift off the ground.

_Peeewww!_

Stark Industries’ finest goes off right in that big purple face. Clint’s ears ring with the impact of it as Hulk catches the cable connecting him and Natasha together in his _teeth_ , pulling them back down to safety by weight alone. They crash land amongst the rumble dazed and confused.

“Fetch,” Stark explains as he zooms into view, dropping Captain Rogers to his feet. “Hulk’s been training really hard.”

Hulk swats Iron Man onto the ground for that smart remark.

A deep baritone laugh falls on their ears in thick fat droplets of amusement.

The team tenses.

“I’ve been waiting, Avengers.”

“Hey!” Natasha yells and then whimpers as she limps to her feet, pulling Clint’s arrow from her limb. Her normally blank expression now contorted with anger and pain. She only ever shows things on her face when she wants information. Her real face is the one that always looks like a mask. It’s a handy trick. 

“Where’s your little glowing box?”

“Silly girl,” Thanos intones, full of glee. “I need not the Cosmic Cube any longer. I am infused with its power, one with Everything, and you—” He clenches one large fist. “You are the delicate blossoms in the bouquet I’ve chosen for my mistress.”

They stare.

“You are the gift I bestow upon her.”

“Death?” Stark hazards a guess. 

“She thirsts for your souls, longs for them… And I vow to allow her to drink her fill of your meaningless lives.”

A little electronic melody begins to play, filling the void of space with… Black Sabbath.

The other Avengers stare at Stark incredulously.

“Hello?” Stark answers. “Uh, hi, Pepper. It’s not a good time.”

Thanos’ amused expression filters into one of confusion and then great displeasure.

“No! I mean, we’re in the middle of this mission— I can’t come to the office now.”

There’s a pause. Captain Rogers is looking around as if he’s forgotten about Stark working on that cell phone problem.

“I’m a little out of the way.” The Iron Man suit rocks back on its heels and hands are placed on its hips. Stark continues with a long suffering sigh, “Because I’m in _Outer Space!_ Want me to stop by Mars on the way back?”

Thanos growls. 

_“ **SILENCE!** ”_

The command reverberates with an unnatural volume, as if tinged with a thousand voices in the place of one.

“Mortals!” Thanos screams, “You will _DIE_ by my hands! Death will have you, one by one!”

“Kinky,” Clint mutters. Exchanges a knowing glance with Natasha.

“ _NO._ ” Hulk screams back, like a child disagreeing with a parent’s wishes. He stamps one foot and the asteroid shakes in their favour, turns Thanos into an angry, clawing man with wild eyes. 

“AVENGERS LIVE.”

“Yeah!” Rogers hefts his shield, determination coming off him in waves. “Sorry to burst your bubble, Thanos. But if Death wants us so badly she’s going to have to go through all of us, together!”

Iron Man’s mask retracts and the suit suddenly springs flaps all over to reveal about fifty different missile launchers, all armed.

“Bad news buddy,” Stark smirks, “There’s a _reason_ we’re still alive!” 

Because they’re so close to dying, all the damned time. The arc reactor in Tony’s chest— killing him but simultaneously keeping him alive. The formula that extended Steve’s lifeline, letting him watch as time killed all those he knew. Bruce, wanting to die, but never being able to swallow the bullet. He and Natasha, assassins trying to escape all the red they’d left spilled, before it edged up too close. Killing in order to outrun their deaths.

It’s really kind of depressing, but Clint’s always seen a little too much.

All of them are so close to Death already. It would just get too weird if they went on a date.

******

A cry full of brutal rage tears out of the crevice as a strike of lightning would streak across a darkened sky.

It’s a warning Loki’s body threatens to heed. It would make his blood freeze, were it not already so cold. Forces his skin to jump as if trying to escape. Loki lands upon the asteroid with an answering shockwave of magical energy. 

Another ferocious roar welcomes him.

_Thor._

Loki knows the roll of thunder better than anyone. He’s always listening to it. The only thing terrifying about its sound is when it stops.

Loki tenses at the silence which follows the temper, but carries on, one foot in front of the other, posture ramrod straight and determination casting his face into a stern mask. And there is Thor, who has found his forgotten weapon’s resting place, an ugly pedestal on this forgotten crumb of rock.

Thor’s trying to lift Mjölnir.

Loki watches with a detached awareness of humour. It’s amusing that only days ago Thor had been so strong as to fly with the heavy burden in his grasp. Now Thor grips with all his might, dirty face turning red from exertion. He _burns_ , like a star. Hot with frustration that boils out into every pore. Heavy booted feet planted in the ground on either side of the hammer’s head, cracks spidering out from underneath. Thor grimaces and grunts, nostrils flaring madly as he pulls at the lodged weapon.

It makes no budge. 

“What do you want to do with it, once you’ve weapon in hand?” 

Loki asks this in a calm manner, even though his blood starts to race to the finish, the line he must cross. He takes measured steps towards the panting Thor, watches him with calculating eyes. He could do it, he thinks as he spies Thor’s thick foolish head covered in tatty blond waves. Bring the real Thor back. 

It’s not a matter of what Loki wants now. He never gets what he wants. There’s no time to chase thoughts of what could follow after. It’s inevitable. Of all the lies in the universe, he knows there’s only ever been one truth he need save. 

Thor breathes harshly as he stumbles back from the stuck hammer, a hungry glare obscuring his features. “Loki,” He seems bewildered, stupid. 

“Do you plan to call upon Thunder?” Loki smiles ironically, hands fanning away cape and gliding closer still, “Wipe us all out?”

“Loki,” Thor huffs, chest struggling to push through the measly supply of air, “Come, there’s still time—”

“There’re no clouds in _SPACE!_ ” Loki’s calm explodes into a fury, helmet slipping menacing shadows into his eyes, two black hooks crossing his face. Spit flies from Loki’s lips at this point but he cannot have a care. His lower jaw juts forward, trying to catch against something and _tear._

“Clear skies, I can see them, Thor. As I see _you._ ” 

Loki wants to laugh at the irony, but it isn’t funny. He stalks forward until he’s all but accusing Thor, straight to his face. Toe to toe, nose to nose.

“Snivelling. _Pathetic._ Why even bother?”

And Loki smiles mockingly. Feels smugness wash over him with the widening of Thor’s bright heartless eyes.

“You are _**unworthy.**_ ” 

The last word reverberates in his mind, up and down his spine. A string of simple letters that curl around his brainstem and squeeze out the most horrid image of Odin Allfather, his snarling disappointed face as he casts Thor from Asgard, holding Mjölnir in one unforgiving fist.

Oh.

How _kingly_ Loki is in his rage. 

“Look at you,” Loki whispers. Swipes a line of spit that’s caught on his bottom lip. His mouth feels so empty, looking at Thor. Lips full of blood, cheeks flushed, fingers itching. Wretchedly stupid Thor. He flinches as Loki brings callously gentle hands to comb back tangled hair, nails threading tenderly.

Loki touches the tip of his nose to Thor’s, a cruel kiss. “You are nothing but a _mindless beast._ ”

With a mighty thrash of powerful arms, Thor throws the two of them apart so that they are both hunched and panting, two animals of feral nature. Free. 

“Is it not you who told me so!” Thor cries back, a tremor of anguish shooting through thick wrath. “That I have more heart than mind? And now look,” Thor wrings hands through his own hair, takes half steps back and forth before slamming fists to the ground. The splintering of rock is a crack of mined lightning. 

Thor _spits_ at Mjölnir in disgrace, “The Tesseract has taken it all.”

This is not the real Thor. Loki looks upon him and sees an ant worth squashing.

“And only Death can fill this hole,” Thor palms his chest as though it aches, “Only Thanos can show me how. Loki, I want you by my side—”

He is going to wipe out this tarnished blemish, this dark smudge, and bring back the shine.

“Loki, _please— Help._ I cannot even hold that which is most dear in my own hand.”

Thor’s devastated voice pierces Loki’s lungs, stops his breath.

 _Oh Thanos, for what you’ve done to him,_ he thinks. _You will personally meet Death._

“Then hold _me_ , Thor.” Loki commands in the barest whisper of a scream, hand trembling as he points at Thor, condemning, accusing. So full of blame. “Hold _**me.**_ ”

Thor gives a senseless cry as reply, lurches to embrace him, and Loki slams the strongest spell he knows against the crown of Thor’s head.

 _Without you I am meaningless_ , Loki thinks even as the larger man comes crashing down against his chest, Loki’s arms locked around him.

 _You are the riches I’ll never own, the hero I’ll never be. Because how can the universe hold so much and yet be so empty?_

How could his heart be a frozen shrivelled thing and then at one glance, become emblazed? One touch, one kiss, and Loki _burns_ instead of evaporating. Becomes the fire instead of the smoke for he is used to being obscured, the frost upon a window. Carelessly wiped away. Only Thor looks through. Only Thor is whom he wants to see. 

But he doesn’t want Thor to _see._

_Dear Thor, you are everything and nothing to me._

The greatest triumph Loki has ever known and the most crushing defeat. They are strung together in a never-ending fight, in an ever spinning world, arching down a tight spiral until there is nothing left for them to do but collide.

He holds Thor close, hands curved over shoulder blades.

Thor grunts and raises his head. His nose trails a path up Loki’s sharp chin, then soft cheek. His eyes are squeezed shut, no doubt from the pain. They breathe the same air, for just that moment. They are the same. Loki closes his eyes.

“Hrgngh…” 

Thor grunts and shakes his head. “That hurt,” He says incredulously, then, “So we may go to Thanos now?”

Loki blinks in shock and is greeted by Thor’s icy eyes.

“Damn,” He sputters. “Did that not work?”

“What?” Thor rubs his head.

Well, then. A different method.

Loki hooks one arm around Thor’s neck and _twists._ Thor doesn’t even get a garble out before he’s careening over Loki’s shoulder. Loki turns and slams knees to the ground, sending Thor head first into the asteroid at their feet. Dirt and dust sprays up in fat pillars, sharp plates of rock nicking Loki’s face as he all but drives Thor into a self-made grave.

He’s panting as he backs away to see Thor’s legs topple down, cape splayed where his head is surely buried deep inside solid rock. The curve of that tight buttocks wrapped in dark leather is an unexpectedly nice side effect.

Loki bites his lip to halt the sudden arrogantly pleased grin that threatens to spoil his bad mood. Oh, but Thor does look _good_ like this. Loki grins.

The picture is broken as Thor slams palms against the ground and pushes until his head is excavated and he’s gasping for air. Filthy streams of gravel pour down, curtaining his face, and he coughs up more rock than air.

Loki’s mouth twitches.

“Hckk—Loki,” Thor grits out, “T-hhngff—Thanos awaits!”

The triumph falls away with an outraged scream.

“ _Damn_ you, Thor! Nothing has ever been harder than your head!”


	7. Chapter 7

_Go._

This is the one word that acts like rocket fuel, shot straight into Natasha’s feet as she pounds across the landscape. The grenade she hurls at the base’s wall barely has time to detonate before she and Captain Rogers go diving through the rubble and flames, going head first into the darkness.

She knows that she should be listening, keeping a keen ear out for the rest of the team battling Thanos. But everything just filters away in the loud nearly maddening _buzz_ that hugs the air of the base, shakes it. 

Her breaths come in fast greedy gulps as she rolls to her feet, crouched low with pistols in hand. The shallow wound on her thigh is tied off tight and she fights the urge to press a palm against it, take a moment of time out. 

No time. Go. 

Rogers sends his shield spinning out and it saws against the walls with bright sparks, lighting up the surroundings for the brief moments they need to go further still. She flings a flare and he catches the returning disk and they’re charging inwards.

An ashen hand grabs at her face.

Natasha clamps her teeth together to keep from uttering a sound and cuts the appendage off with the deadly zip line she carries in case strangulation is required. The walking dead the arm used to be attached to makes a pitiful sound and she follows up with a quick hard kick to the pelvis.

Rogers shouts and he’s fending off more soldiers for a too long moment before they’re on the move again.

Go, go, _go!_

They burst into a room that positively _hums_. A thousand little voices made deafening in the sum.

The Tesseract is the only light in the darkness.

A dull thing, flickering and near lifeless, it sits atop a lonely pedestal, odd tentacle-like cables running out of it from all corners. But it still casts the room in enough watery blue ambience that she can see. 

See the glass tubes the cables plug into. See the equally dull, near lifeless Humans stuck inside these tubes, eye sockets shining so bright it’s like their insides are made of light. The Captain is staring at them as if he’s seen a ghost and maybe this is as close as they’re gonna get to paranormal activity. Then again, super hero day jobs.

“Thanos wants us to believe he doesn’t need it!” She yells over the hum, and it’s obvious that Rogers hadn’t expected to hear anything beyond the din that oppressively fills their ears. Like water trickling in until you’re fully submerged and the pressure of being overfull becomes too great.

He steps away from the tubes as she continues. 

“But his face, and it’s still here— he told us exactly what I needed to know.”

She reaches out.

“Woah—Wait! What are you doing?” She gives him a half smile, to reassure. He should know by now that looking at people like they’re crazy is getting old. They’re all crazy here.

“Every face talks, Captain. And this thing’s got six.”

She grabs the Cube.

******

Steve watches as Agent Romanov lets go of the Tesseract as though she’s been burned. She curls in on herself, hands clawed and shaking, panting madly and Steve grips at her shoulders shouting her name.

Natasha looks up at him with wide eyes.

“We’ve got a problem,” She gasps out.

The Missing Persons trapped here don’t look the same as the soldiers that scatter the asteroid belt, attacking them with weapons fuelled by the Tesseract. These three people still have colour in their faces. Even though it’s fading faster as time goes by, they’re not yet the sick gray-skinned individuals who blindly serve Thanos. 

It doesn’t make any sense. Steve frowns, desperate determination filling his mouth like a wad of cotton. Clogging him up. He only wished it didn’t always feel like time was running out.

“Know why these people have been turned into overgrown nightlights?” Steve asks, bravely putting on a half smile in the face of Natasha’s disturbed look. It wouldn’t help to fall down to the end of his tether.

“They’ve been drained of their hearts and souls,” She says, eyes meeting his, “Turned into batteries.”

Steve can’t help his mouth falling open, the pit of his stomach falling out farther. “Can we unplug them? Get them to safety?”

She shakes her head, looking away, and quotes, “ _Every breath we take is one they give.”_

“What?” Steve whispers and the smell of his own immense guilt is thick like the sharp stench of gun powder on the next inhale. The reason why the Avengers could breathe in the middle of space. The reason the air was so thin.

Loki had been right about Thanos’ plan. Human sacrifice.

But the dead don’t need air. 

So that must mean that all this time, for as long as they’d landed on this godforsaken battlefield, they’d been killing innocent people. Is that why the soldiers kept coming? Were they just an army of copperheads, crawling out of the tubes after being used up, only to be used some more after death? 

The more the Avengers lived, the quicker civilians had died.

It poisons Steve’s veins.

“Their bodies are still alive, these ones.” Agent Romanov looks calmly at the unseeing people before them, an impassive tone to her voice. “But unplug them and this whole system goes down. The atmosphere evaporates. We all die.”

Why does it always have to level out that way? That to fight against the oppressors in this world meant the scales are always balanced to hold heroes up on one side, up on the shoulders of innocents. Good people are always the ones to get used and hurt in situations like these. And it’s people like Steve who feel the crash when they’re knocked down. 

“Is there any other way— Something else we can try?”

Romanov’s chin bows. “It showed me what to do. Someone can step in there. Unplug the civilians and switch out the Cube with one of those weapons.” She points to the gun in his grasp. “They conduct the Cube’s energy so it can work to maintain the system. Keep the air going. That’s what Thanos did before he consumed most of the Tesseract’s power.”

A volunteer. Well, this is a price Steve can willingly pay.

“Is one person enough?” He asks and he knows she can read his face. She does not bother to acknowledge it.

“I’ll plug in.” She says before he can volunteer. At the half-sound he gets out she gives him a look that would put any man in the dirt, six feet under. “Don’t bother making a different call.”

“Different than what you’d make?” Steve replies. 

Natasha does not say a thing.

“More sacrifice is what Thanos wants,” Steve tells her this as he puts a hand on Natasha’s shoulder. “Let’s not give him the satisfaction.”

They watch the last remaining Missing Persons. Watch as their mindless bodies search for the barest of breathes, the smallest of pulses. Each inhale makes Steve lightheaded. The humming gets louder, almost too loud to bear. Pressure jackhammers on all sides, bruising from lack of air.

“It took their hearts and minds...” He murmurs, quiet and mourning, “But what about their souls?”

“They rest in peace.”

And both their faces are washed in a swirl of the dark and light as she pulls the Cube from its perch and he slams the weapon into place. Natasha gasps a loud breath and then grits her teeth, face going stony once more. 

Red hair curtains down and she punches her left shoulder, causing the miniature video camera attached there to flicker back to life.

“Sorry, Director,” Steve narrates to the camera’s tiny face, “Know you were expecting take out, but I have it on good authority dinner’s going to be burnt.”

Natasha grips against the glowing block of solid energy, her face cast in eerie glow.

“Come on. We’ve got more shit to avenge.”

******

“Get. Off. Me.” Loki seethes, voice hoarse and dark.

His fingers curl like talons into the ground beneath. The sharp porous rock pops and splinters into dust as he grips and digs heels in. The asteroid Loki lies upon has been reduced by each fearsome strike.

“Cease your tricks!” Thor shouts back with merry vigour, and Loki swallows in a second of alarm as his shoulders are pinned down by Thor’s obscene strength. He struggles, snapping out limbs like whips.

Both their capes are in tatters, shreds of black and green floating up into the night. Dirt and grime paints their faces for war, as Thor’s warm breath against Loki’s cheeks paints red. Damnable Thor. Loki squeezes eyes shut, and the rock in his palms turns to handfuls of powder in his shaking grasp.

“Do as I say!” Loki growls and kicks out again, getting a solid knee into Thor’s gut. He groans and crumbles in on himself, that little spot under the ribs has always been tender. Loki manages to push his lumbering weight off and roll away. They’re both breathing like warhorses after a long charge, clopping amongst the crevices on hands and knees. 

“Loki, stop this.” Thor takes fat gulps of air. “We’ll have time to spar later—”

“Shut up!” Loki screams and swipes an angry hand up his face, pushing off the poor helm that now only sports one horn. The other has floated away somewhere, lost in space. “If you won’t return to your old self then I shall leave you, Thor. Leave you here to rot!”

He needs something, anything, to hit Thor with. Spells have not worked. Slamming him against rock has not worked. NOTHING has worked. It drives Loki insane with a sharp spike of fear. That this is permanent. A thought he cannot bear.

“No! Thanos _said_ —said I could keep you. Keep you here!” Thor’s face is pleading, deranged in its childish ignorance, “I will not allow you to interfere with his plans, Loki!”

“What would you have me for?” Loki rasps back, feeling just as unhinged. Suffocated. “A pet to come at your beck and call? A trophy weapon, like your father would?”

Loki feels a stab of desperation deep inside his chest. He bows over low, holding onto the ground as though he means to float away. He gasps and feels hot wetness sliding down his blood-filled cheeks. 

“To replace one burden with another?” Loki cries, teeth bared. “You can’t _keep me_ , Thor. I am not _yours._ ” 

Such hot anger courses through him, through his voice, that Loki feels like he is freezing everywhere else. He looks down, and there in his palm, an icy javelin has formed without thinking.

When his clumped wet eyelashes lift, Loki is staring coldly, outside of himself, watching as he whispers cruelly, “I have no master but myself.”

“We are _brothers._ ” Thor returns, crawling across the asteroid, closer. Thor wears his sincerity, his innate goodness, so openly even _now._ It is a blade which slashes Loki open, makes him bleed out slow black blood that reflects endless stars.

Because Loki is not enough. Never enough. Not strong enough to even do something simple as this. 

Couldn’t he just throw this monstrous dagger? Throw this evidence of how broken they really are. Prove to Thor that they are just the bookends of a story too long to tell. The same story, over and over again. That they are on either sides of an endless orbit, the farthest points travelling in the same trajectory, always together but apart. 

A cruel joke, that Loki should have to look upon Thor and know they could never touch.

And Loki can’t ask for help, for he is alone. One of a kind. No one helps the villain openly scorned. Invisible monsters, gawked at for their inner ugliness, are all the more visible with every potential friend that turns away.

Are his eyes closed? He can’t see.

He must set Thor free.

Thor is cradling the side of his neck now, looking at him so imploringly. They kneel together in the crater, out of breath and out of time.

“Brother...” Loki murmurs just as Thor’s mouth touches the side of his lips in a soft kiss. He drops the giant icicle. It splinters apart around their knees. 

He should be used to this by now. He never gets what he wants.

“Thor, stop.” Loki whispers, knowing he is dishonest only with himself. Thor sucks lightly on his lower lip, presses a kiss to his chin.

“This is a poisonous thing,” Loki groans as he says this, knowing he wouldn’t stop poison’s sweetness from flooding in even if he could. His hands shake as he stands them up. Head feels dizzy against the rush of blood and vertigo. Thor’s arms wrap around him. 

Loki can feel more tears creep out the corners of his eyes at this gentleness. Hates himself further for the sentiment all the same. Slips his silver tongue where it does not belong. Because the best lies are the ones in Thor’s mouth. Thor gasps at the sensation, large hands almost clumsy as they thread through Loki’s hair. Loki steps backwards, as though trying to escape. Thor follows.

It’s agony, to feel this way. To feel so much. All for _Thor._

He trembles as he pulls back, just enough to mouth against Thor’s stubble, “I can’t.”

_Why can’t I hate you **more?**_

“Is this not right?” Thor asks and his gentle touch deepens, moulds into Loki’s back as though he means to fold him. The line of their bodies tied together is warm. So warm it hurts. “The Cube, it showed me...”

“Let _me_ show you,” Loki pants out, backing away as much as he dares. Thor reaches out and holds Loki’s hip, an answering thumb slips across his lip. Loki grazes the knuckle with his teeth, biting down just enough to warn, but he hooks fingers into the grooves of armor at Thor’s ribs. Tugs.

They gaze upon each other, breathless. 

And Thor smiles, as if they’re just playing. He looks so much like himself in this precious moment that it’s deliberately cruel. This is just a game. 

Loki’s heart beats a bruise into the center of his chest. He pulls Thor into a deep kiss to which Thor comes willingly. It’s venom as he licks a line down the roof of Loki’s mouth and a moan reverberates in between them, wet and red. When they part, Thor is gasping. Blinking fast. Loki uses this opportunity to cup one hand into Thor’s hair and then _claw._

He swings Thor’s head to bounce against the angled face of Mjölnir.

_You say you want me by your side in this miserable place,_ Loki thinks as Thor grunts in pain, falling onto his side. Concussed. Possessed eyes flickering.

_But I need you too. I need your help Thor. I need your strength. I can’t do it by myself. Men like me, can’t take what we want._

“Give it to me.” The command tears past Loki’s lips in a guttural tone he cannot stop.

Thor fists the hem of Loki’s tunic and with a thrash Loki’s thrown face first into the ground. The whole asteroid shakes. 

Thor howls in pain or betrayal and Loki cares not which. He laughs into the dirt, dust puffing out in clouds around his face and sticking. He laughs and laughs and laughs. Thor crawls like a hungry animal overtop him, mad unseeing eyes aglitter as he flips Loki onto his back. 

“There’s no Avenger to interfere now,” Thor spits at him.

The dark that halos Thor only makes his stranger’s face more pronounced, that luminous gaze more repulsive. It’s a lie so easy to see through now, looking upon Thor like this. Loki feels almost ashamed for playing. Pain for pain.

“No.” Loki grins maliciously, watches as Thor smirks, beautiful against the black. His large arms tower over his head, hands clapped together like thunder. His entwined fists are on the downwards arc when Loki vanishes.

“None except _me_ , Thor!” Loki screams, triumphant as his clone disappears. 

The real Loki is standing just beside the hammer. Thor’s fists slam into empty space and all that’s left is the giant fissure that splits the asteroid down its middle. Loki mindlessly grabs the hilt of Mjölnir to steady himself against the quake— and it _lifts._

_Oh._

_So **that’s** how you fly,_ Loki thinks vaguely, thoughts rushing through his mind like a kaleidoscope of colours bouncing off the Bifrost. He understands, so suddenly. Just for this one fleeting moment, he understands Thor completely. 

_It’s not you. It’s not greatness that pushes you up. You’re **pulled.**_

It is light, so light, that his arm becomes the dust trail of a comet speeding across the galaxy as the hammer swings through the air.

******

The universe explodes into white night.

******

“Watch out!”

_BOOM!_

A gigantic pulsing body of energy flashes across the asteroid belt. There’s an unseeing moment when all there is, is light.

The asteroid tips sideways.

Well, as far as Clint can _tell_ , it’s damn well tipping. He pulls himself up from where he’s lying in a fissure, ears ringing. He must have touched the unfelt injury, because as he blinks his hand is lowering away, fingers coming away red. Let’s hope that’s a head wound and not his eardrums.

The battle has left him disoriented. It’s chaos. The atmosphere seems like it’s evaporating, taking with it his breath. They’re all gasping, bleeding, bruised. 

Clint staggers to his feet and nearly topples over. Bearings elude him for a moment. Taking aim can be difficult when the only landmarks in sight are rock bed, blackness, the occasional star, and more blackness. 

Hulk goes flying bodily at Thanos right after Stark’s next missile explodes.

Thanos howls in outrage as Hulk grapples with him. It’s an awful multi-voiced roar that goes rolling across the crooked terrain like the backend of a jet.

“I’m down on ammo, suit’s energy is low. And _he’s_ powered by an infinite energy source! We can’t fight this guy forever!” Stark shouts as he swings by in a wide arc, landing on the next slanted outcropping. “Think we can just _push_ him off?”

Clint’s only got two arrows left, “Not with Banner taking up all the dances.”

“Guess I better go cut in then,” Stark’s mask clanks shut and he blasts away.

Clint’s secret power is that he’s got an eye in the back of his head, and he’s been watching the base. When the sprawling structure goes angling left he’s off his feet and canting to the right. So he’s not _completely_ surprised when Captain Rogers and Natasha come barrelling into the fray, the Cube in hand. Still, head wound. 

Thanos knocks Hulk away with one bulbous elbow and flings a mighty curveball of energy, zooming in fast and furious towards the returning Avengers. Clint’s stomach twists and tips the other way but his hand is solid as he fires off an arrow to block it. The resulting bang was not in the plan.

Rogers goes flying and Natasha is sent reeling into a jutting face of rock, flattened. The Cube tumbles from her grasp and skitters across the asteroid, threatening to fall off the edge. The Captain lands nearest to it and reaches out, grabs it for just a moment, but Thanos lands against the asteroid and the Cube falls from Rogers’ hand in the tremor.

Clint sprints towards him but Rogers is waving a hand, warding him off. “No time! _Destroy the Cube_ —It’s the only way to stop him!”

What follows next is the most haphazard, clumsy, awfully executed relay that Clint has ever had the pleasure of being a part of. He fires a cabled arrow off immediately, hoping to high hell the Cube can be hooked.

It can.

He runs across the battlefield, reeling it in, winding the cable around his arm at lightning speed in a twirling motion. When the Cube hits his hand there’s a twinge in the back of his chest, somewhere, probably where the heart is. His eyes hurt. He knows what to do.

“STARK!” How loud he’s screamed he does not know, but it’s a catalyst, the beginning of a chain reaction. 

Iron Man drops flares in his wake as he rushes towards Clint, hands outstretched. Stark’s got no more power to detonate this thing. That’s okay. They’re enough. The Avengers are enough. He lobs the Cube as hard as he can and Stark catches it.

_“Smash it!”_ Natasha cries out from somewhere far away.

Well, they do know an expert in the field.

And then the flying suit of red and gold is gone, rocketing on all the remaining power. Just enough to get close to Hulk and drop the glowing Cube into a waiting green hand. All the remaining Avengers can do is plant themselves like trees. Not move, even after being dried out, broken, stepped on, and watch as it all burns down.

Thanos lets out a guttural yell. Shouts, spittle flying between those purple lips.

“You’re fooling yourselves Humans. You always fool yourselves! I will not be defeated—not by such lost stubborn creatures! The _nothings_ under my rule! DEATH WILL COME FOR YOU.”

Hulk shakes his head. “No. You go.”

And in his fist the Tesseract shatters, one truly spectacular smash.

Thanos gasps and like blowing out a candle, he’s gone. No smoke trail left to breathe in. The light in his eyes go out. Hulk slams a meaty fist against his chest and the shards of Cube go skittering out, floating into the night. With no burden of life to hold him down, his feet lift off the asteroid and he drifts away.

******

The Avengers are all lying amongst the rubble, suffocating, until Stark Shuttle hovers close overhead and they’re cast in its shadow.

“Catch,” Tony Stark mutters, spits out dust. “Has always been Hulk’s best subject.”

Hulk whacks him.

******

“How much farther to go, do you think?”

“At this rate?” Bruce adjusts his glasses while looking up at Captain Rogers. He takes a deep breath and exhales. “Oh, I don’t know… 600 million kilometres, more or less.”

This only serves to make the rest of the team depressed and silent.

Agent Barton snorts and moves away, endlessly fiddling with what’s left of his weapons, “Let’s just hope sleeping beauty wakes up soon to get us back.”

Thor and Loki sleep.

Bruce looks at them quietly. Their long bodies barely fit, stretched out in slumber on the cabin floor. After getting back onto the ship with no small help from Jarvis and those handy robots Tony keeps around, they’d set out a search. Nearly immediately, Avengers Operative Thor was found and along with him, Loki. The two of them, unconscious and floating amongst the remains of the battlefield.

Bruce looks away, and wishes he could remember more than snippets of overpowering emotion, flashes of blinding light. When he’d come to, Agent Romanov had been wrapping his bloody hand. It looked like he’d squeezed a glass until it’d broken. Superficial wound at best, but it unnerved Bruce. He’d never woken up with injuries before. 

Maybe there really were some things out there, powerful enough to do him in.

His mouth quirks at the side, staring at the bloodied bandage. Funny, how all it takes is actually coming close to dying to make him happy to be alive. 

“Who’d have thought they’d both be such deep sleepers?” Rogers asks standing over the two Gods with a puzzled expression.

“It’s a little bit convenient for them though, isn’t it?” Barton replies, surly. “You got to chill out through the better part of history and the Hulk gets to fade to black off his blood pressure problem. And now _these_ two get to nod off to Neverland while the rest of us float around in deep space.”

Natasha snorts, rolls her head to look at him. She’s bandaged up too. “You forgot the part where it’s out of character for you _to_ sleep.”

“Right.”

“What actually happened out there?” Bruce asks, nodding at the two Asgardians but not expecting an answer.

“Uh, are you kidding?” Tony cuts in, a smirk working its way up his lips, “We just took out Freud’s _poster child_ for Necrophilia, who wanted to destroy all of us, not to mention the _universe_ just to woo the physical personification of Death.” 

“All in a day’s work, obviously.” Bruce smiles wryly.

“On the high end of that scale—This?” Tony’s eyebrows dance up and down in a terribly familiar expression as he gestures between Loki and Thor with a food bar that doesn’t look very appetizing. “This is not so strange.”

“Wait. What do you mean by ‘ _this’?_ ” Bruce asks, dreading the knowledge of what horror he’s managed to miss. Curious all the same. Tony’s face reverts to something completely stoic and awfully fake. Then he laughs. 

Rogers shakes his head at Tony’s antics, “You don’t want to know.”

“That was a _look_ , though. Tony, I saw that.” Bruce glances at Romanov for help. “There was a look, right?”

She shrugs. Half-smiles.

The mythical hammer Mjölnir is grasped tightly in both Thor and Loki’s fists.

The silence returns. 

When he thinks about it, Bruce is glad Loki found Thor. Because he knew what it’s like. To think you don’t have anyone else. All of them, the Avengers— they knew what it’s like.

Each one of them knew intimately the pain of isolation. Knew what it is to wander alone, one by one, thinking that there was no one else who could ever understand. That there were bigger things in this world, always out of their grasps because they were each so small, so ugly. That there was no help to ask for, because no one else existed in the same way. Like attracted like. They were repelled. 

They were caught in solipsis, trapped in the lonely fortress of their minds. Waiting for something to hold onto, a purpose to come and make them real.

Some assembly required.

“Hold up guys—” Tony breathes in awe. Takes a hasty bite of his snack bar. “We may not need help after all.”

“What?” 

The team crowds around Tony’s console, desperate for a way out. Bruce takes a seat next to him at the controls and starts flicking through data, reading as fast as he can scroll. Jarvis is pulling up various video windows to play footage that overlay with the feed from their present location. 

Bruce stops. Blinks owlishly. “Is that what I think it is?”

“What is it?” Rogers puts a hand on Tony’s shoulder.

“You know that rip above my Tower?” Tony says smugly.

“It’s become a wormhole!” Bruce reacts with wonderment, heart feeling lighter than air. His fingers fly across the screens.

“A what?” Someone asks this blankly from behind but Bruce is too involved to differentiate who.

“You know, a bridge in space.” 

Tony claps the Captain on the back. “It’s like a dirt path that’s been used so often it becomes a road.”

“Good as idea as any,” Rogers raises an eyebrow and then smiles. “So are we going through?”

Romanov slaps a hand down on Bruce’s shoulder, making him jump. “Well I’m definitely not keen on being stuck with you guys for the next thousand years.”

Barton puts an arm around the back Bruce’s seat. “Hey, we always said we’d grow old together.”

“In the ground,” Romanov says overtop Bruce’s head, but her mouth is twisting in a rare smile at his sass. “Not in space.”

“Then let’s put our feet back down.” Stark throws a space food wrapper away, “I could use a donut.”

That’s the thing about Humans. Fate’s all well and good, but they _invented_ Irony. When you don’t know where you’re going, any road will take you there.


	8. Chapter 8

Thor wakes with a grunt.

His eyes snap open, fuzzy. As if he hasn’t used them in a very long time.

He sits up with a groan, his head pulses. He pushes hair from his face, blinking back his sight. There are odd tiny cables attached to his bare arms, and he immediately yanks them off. They peel away like the soft stems of flowers, round sticky caps drooping. He smells the battle on himself still, moulded into the tattered armour he still sports. He smoothes palms down his neck, his arms. There are the odd bruises and nicks written into his bare skin. 

Not so much time has passed then.

Thor recognizes this room as one in SHIELD. Its sparse windowless walls greet him, force him to look away, inside himself. Wonder what has happened.

He _knows_. Distantly. 

To be pushed out so cleanly from his own mind has left an alien sterility that clings to his memories. He knows what has happened, in the autonomous way one knows that their heart beats. There, in the chest, but not really audible until the right moment calls. If it suddenly stopped you wouldn’t be able to do a thing to care for it.

The one door of the room creaks open and a man dressed in a strange sort of white robe enters, holding a massive double-bladed weapon.

Before he knows what he’s doing, Thor’s hand is held out and Mjölnir flies into his palm.

“Wow! So _that’s_ how that works.” The man tilts his head looking curious and excited. “We haven’t been able to move the hammer from your friend—”

His eyes cut across the room, to another bed, and Thor follows this movement. Sees Loki.

“Drop your swords!” Thor demands, loud enough to startle the skittish Human into doing just that. The odd weapon lands with a crack against the floor.

“Oookay...” The man has begun to sweat, nervous, as his back hits the doorframe. “I’m just here to cut your armor off! They’re only industrial grade shears! I swear.” 

Thor growls, unable to keep focus, hold attention. The pull of longing to go to Loki is so fierce he has to stop, squeeze his eyes shut. Shake his head.

“If you so swear it,” He concedes and lowers Mjölnir. “I would be alone with my Brother!”

“Uh-erm... No problem!” The man is all too eager to leave but lingers for just a second, “The Avengers Initiative is glad to have you back Thor.”

******

“Do we act?”

Nick Fury ignores Agent Hill for a moment. He rests his chin and mouth against folded hands, staring down at the various video feeds that play on his screens.

“No. Let them be.”

******

Thor goes to where Loki rests, looks upon his pale face that is nicked with tiny scratches. His expression is closed off in slumber, a still-life painting framed by dark eyelids and even darker hair.

Thor feels the weight of Mjölnir which remains in his curled fingers. It is with a sudden bubbling of dread that he becomes afraid to hold it. 

Thor’s hand is no stranger to a tremble. 

When he was young and Mjölnir a new foreign weight upon his palm, he felt small and inexperienced. The hammer had started out so heavy, a burden more than a gift. He’d burned with righteous indignation for long months. Angry at his father for thinking such a stupid clumsy weapon could ever make him great. Instead, it served as an important reminder of his disgrace. Was better suited to reveal him as fragile in the most intimate of ways. 

So then, his once steady hands knew trembles.

To wield Mjölnir is to allow himself to be deformed. Even now, it is a sensation too difficult to describe by thoughts alone, never mind using words. The feeling of being _pulled_ , stretched out wide like the span of Time, dragged against his will until he learned to simply hold on. More than anything, Mjölnir is a gift of uncertainty. A power of more worth because of its price. That whosoever should know his weakness could allow the hammer to lend its strength.

To Mjölnir, _you_ are the burden. Of course, no one else knows this but Thor. His greatest power; the greatest reason to feel useless. He’d gotten carried away, once, believing its prowess his own. Father and Midgard had helped with righting that.

His greatest fear— to be unworthy.

Sometimes Thor’s hand still shook, in the cover of thunder. 

It shook now, touching his Brother.

Thor’s fingertips ghost down the curve of Loki’s cheekbones. They’ve always been so sharp. His thumb skims against the collar of breastplate, shoulder, elbow. Thor rests Mjölnir beside Loki and sits on the edge of the bed. Takes Loki’s hand.

There a little twinge of jealousy, right under his ribs. It gives way though, dissolves in the sudden burst of joy, then a shower of longing. His Brother, safe.

It’s in a removed kind of way that Thor knows there should be lines drawn, somewhere between them— He and Loki. But he only knows of the ones that pull them closer. And he is too far stretched to have much care. 

Oh, but how could Loki keep telling so many lies? Lies that litter the days, and then expect the answers and great truths he’d always searched for to fall into his hands?

How could he pretend, manipulate people’s feelings in such harmful ways and then expect to know transcendent love? Thor’s brows turn up, crease his forehead with the pain of it. The thought of Loki, fighting, straining towards grasping the truth. But you can’t catch anything with fists.

_I remember a shadow. Living in the shade of your greatness._

His grip tightens, so much that Loki’s hand moves with each beat of Thor’s pounding pulse. 

How could Loki think that? _That_ , of all things. 

Thor grits his teeth, breathes harshly. Because he _knows_ how. He just doesn’t want to believe it. That Loki can so easily cast away Thor’s love as nothing more than something unpleasant to be avoided. Like it is a burden to even be near. All for the reason that he believes himself erased by it.

But Thor does not see it as this. If Loki truly believed this then he was Thor’s. _His_ shadow. And it meant they were pressed together, connected in the most permanent way. Always touched and never parted. And there is no glory in all the worlds that could force Thor to ignore this. As if he could simply stare ahead, and not notice those whom he stands beside.

Who ever said that Thor stood facing away? 

Of all the hearts hanging upon the branches of Yggdrasil, Loki is the only one who has ever walked beside him. Through anything. Everything. 

Oh, how he knows _everything._ Knows how cold Loki has felt for so long. Knows what would heat him up. But he cannot tell Loki, cannot speak the truths that stretch between them. For there are so many unspoken threads, tying them so tightly together. Thor knows he would not be able to bear it if they snapped. 

If you only hurt the ones you love then it must work both ways. It’s Thor’s fault. For giving too little too late. It seems he only ever realizes what he wants when it’s taken away. 

Sometimes it’s better to let someone think you’ve been left in the dark.

“Oh good,” Loki lilts sardonically from the bed. His voice curves around the strained false smile that pulls at his lips. He flexes the hand which Thor holds. Pulls away.

“I was beginning to think you didn’t want that stupid hammer back.”

“Loki,” Thor murmurs, terrified and gratified all at once. It’s too much. Too much feeling comes rushing up from inside. It hits him in the back of the throat, chokes him. His nostrils flare. “You are awake.”

******

Loki begins to sit up but Thor’s hand comes down to hold him in place, fingers spread against his chest, a delicious warm weight that Loki feels oh-so-terrible for needing.

Thor holds him there, and when Loki does not fight it, his hand slides up, smoothing out ripples and waves of clothing with the crisp sound of static until, oh. Thor’s thumb curves across the sharpness of his jaw, like skimming a nail down the edge of a blade. 

_I am dangerous because of you,_ Loki sneers while staring up, but Thor only tugs at the corner of his mouth with his thumb. A silly attempt at getting him to smile. Loki almost does. 

_You made me so because you are my trigger, the fuse. You are the weakness my enemies abuse. And you are dangerous too._

He shudders, hands twitching with want-filled rushing blood as fingers comb into his hair so that it fans out in black jets across the bedding. His eyes fall shut against this unimaginably painful pressure that pins him down, forces him to think, _Because you **know** —You’ve seen that I... _

The only show of affection to a dangerous thing is to let yourself be cut.

Thor’s golden head, haloed by the lights embedded in the flat gray ceiling, wrinkles by the side of his eyes. Laugh lines long since etched in, youth not quite faded out. They are so old, the both of them, yet still not wise enough. The worried smile that parts Thor’s lips is so wonderfully pleasurable, it hurts. 

Thor asks, “What are we doing here?”

Oh, that’s not _fair._

Loki does smile at this. Grins at the Irony of it. Wants to laugh. Thor should know by now that Loki can tell when he’s lying. Maybe it doesn’t matter now, not really. Hiding behind a truth that stands so tall can sometimes be a form of protection. A white lie, to wash away the lines. If only for just this moment.

The thin mattress creaks as Thor lays down beside him. There is absolutely no space.

“Get your own bed.” Loki hisses and rolls onto his side. 

His palms are sweating, heart racing fast. The mortals have divested him some, cut away parts of his coat. He feels bare, exposed. So much more because Thor _knows._ He wants to vanish. Make himself invisible and drift off on a tangent. Become impervious. 

But then Thor would stop watching. He would turn away, turn his back on Loki. Return to his pathetic band of Avengers, become a King. And as the years and lifetimes crawled by, he would only spend fleeting moments, thinking of Loki as that lost child; the one whom fell through the black because he was stupid enough to believe in lies. Believe in love.

Thor touches his shoulder.

“Mine does not have my Brother in it.”

Thor grins. Loki only knows this because it’s the kind of grin that’s audible, a bow strung with a soft arrow of sound. A gentle amusement, that strikes and then melts upon the heart. Warm. He’s been shot full of this feeling so many times before, he’s bleeding from it. But once more won’t kill him. Not from Thor.

A hand on his shoulder rolls him over and Loki allows it. Knows this is inevitable as the thunder that follows lightning. They’re always in the middle of a storm.

Looking into Thor’s eyes he can almost imagine the sweet sky of Asgard. Blue at first, because they’d fought and played and lived together from the moment the sun came out. The sky would turn to gold as the day passed and they would grow warm, content with each other. They’d knock shoulders and elbows, joking and teasing loudly as they ran into mischief. Brothers playing that old competitor’s game. 

Then as they lay in the long grass, the dark opal cover of night would drape down. When the temperature got uncomfortably low, they’d press backs together, knees curled up. The heat would leave their bodies like spectres through gusts of smoky breath. Thor would take care, notice Loki shivering. Turn him around and clasp their hands, touch his cheek. But Loki had never been cold. 

He’d only ever trembled so it was he whom Thor would hold.

Thor looks at him now with that same care, as though he has been shivering. 

“I cannot return to Asgard,” Thor whispers, eyelids sweeping low.

Of course he can’t. There is no Bifrost or Tesseract to help him. And Loki knows the request that comes even before it passes Thor’s lips, perhaps even before it enters his mind.

“But you could Loki. You could take us home, and we’d rule together until Father’s strength—”

“I would not have the throne.”

“I don’t want to do it without you.” 

What it all comes down to is what it all stems from, an endless circle. Should he believe this lie?

But there are some things Loki has always known. That this is the most important thing, to stay in gravity’s pull. If one of them left then the other would be lost. Spinning wildly out of control. Could he give that up? His Brother, safe. Thor’s warm palms upon his face. He feels a thaw, as though underneath he isn’t just a hollow nothingness, that there in the center, his heart beats the same blood.

Sometimes illusions in the most barren of places are the reason for making it out alive.

“Thor,” Loki breathes, “You know it is what I never wanted— you know well what I do…”

“I know you do what you want.” 

Thor grins and Loki cannot help smiling back. The insides of his nose burn, the back of his throat tight and constricted. He wants to be furious. Wants to push Thor away. He’s being strangled by this feeling but doesn’t want to shout for help. 

Oh, how he loves Thor. More than anyone else. And no one but Thor has ever cared back, equally as much. _You love too much, Thor, while I love only one. I don’t want to be just like any other. There is no other, like me._

Shouldn’t that be enough?

Thor’s grin fades slightly, as though he can see the pain and desperation settling back in, deep inside Loki’s eyes and Loki _hates_ him for this pity. That Thor can see so easily what he tries so viciously to hide. He’s not a God when Thor looks at him. Not a villain or a King. He’s not anything, except for what he really is. 

Just Loki.

A thumbprint against his cheekbone is Loki’s only warning before Thor is crushing Loki in a tight hug. A hot puff of air escapes him, tickles them both under the chins. Thor’s bare arms are warm, so warm. Loki feels as though he has been folded in two. It’s tight, like a promise.

“Thank you.” He can hear the near tears in Thor’s voice and it cuts Loki in places he never knew. He should be pleased to see Thor cast upon an equal playing field. Unable to return home.

“For all that you have done, Loki. You need not do more for me.” 

The familiar ‘Brother’ is not said and Loki wonders with a far away feeling of horror. That this is Thor, preparing to finally let him go. It is painful in ways he could not have imagined. Loki grips at Thor’s chest, fingernails biting against the metal armor. Why is it still happening? When he finally has accepted the truth upon his heart, Thor would rip it away.

 _I’ll hate you for this. With my everything. I’ll hate you forever if you let go._ Thor’s gently spiking breath and stubble against his forehead is excruciating. Loki pushes against his chest, curls up knees, grits his teeth. Struggles. But Thor is unwavering.

“Then we will both remain here,” Thor says, stubborn.

“Preposterous.” Loki spits, stubborn too. Already deciding it is so. “We will argue. We will fight.”

_The only way we ever really pay attention is if we stab each other in the back._

“But we will be together.” Thor implores, lips brushing the sensitive edge of his ear. He swallows at the fat lump that has formed in his throat.

“Thor, you and I are made for something so much better.”

Thor pulls back just enough for breathing room, and the air is hot, a thick dense space that is tantalizing in its attempt to push them apart.

“Do you wish to be an Avenger? Perhaps the one-eyed Fury can be reasoned with.”

“I wish nothing less!”

The only one he would avenge stands strong once more. Safe. The world is right again. But Loki works for Chaos and he has no interest in doing something other than breaking it down, over and over. That’s just how Fate works.

“Mmm... Mischief is more your path,” Thor agrees as though what Loki has done is just part of a child’s game. It is, in a way. It’s all been a game, and now he can’t stop playing. “But in the end, Mjölnir knew of your true allegiance. You wield it well.” 

Thor smiles, holding Loki by the neck, fingers curled so gently into his hair. Loki lets his hands slide down from Thor’s chest and he takes hold of the hilt of the hammer that rests by Thor’s hip. Tries to lift Mjölnir away.

It does not move.

Loki looks down at it knowingly, a small ironic smile. When he looks up he feels his eyes are soft and wet as frost underneath a warm thumb. He would be a fool to believe he’d been worthy of the weapon. It must have only flown because its real master had called.

 _Stupid Thor,_ Loki presses his lips together so that he does not say this aloud. _I never had your power. It was you. It was always you._

“It appears I’ve had a change of heart,” He says instead.

“Then you are Loki still,” Thor murmurs, leaning close, so close it is like they are two thunderclouds and a bolt of lightning streaks between them, bright and intense. Loki sucks in a breath of hot air waits for this calm to wash away.

******

Thor leans and then their foreheads are resting upon each other, mind to mind, ego to ego. He whispers to Loki like he is sharing a secret.

Because it’s not fair if Loki doesn’t know _this._

“Give me a kiss.”

“ _Don’t_.” 

Thor can feel the fury vibrating through Loki’s body. He shivers with it, thrums with hot anger and blood. It all rises to his face. It’s nothing Thor hasn’t seen before. They’ve lived together for a lifetime and this is a welcome reaction. Anything but avoidance. Anything but indifference. Loki’s eyes squeeze shut defiantly, but still Thor persists.

“Don’t speak of that, Thor. Stop.”

He frowns in determination and strokes Loki’s arms, up and down until Loki is just breathing deeply, sharing the same air. Thor can’t help it— His gaze keeps flicking downwards to Loki’s mouth, willing him to understand. That it’s okay. That he wants this. He rubs Loki’s lower lip between thumb and forefinger. 

Loki’s eyes snap open.

The rawness in his expression hurts Thor, cuts deep and makes pain well up inside of him. Because he knows what Loki so relentlessly wants but he knows part of that, part of the reason why he wants so desperately, is because he thinks Thor _doesn’t._

Because to Loki if sentiment isn’t reciprocated, paid in full by equal tears and blood, then it _doesn’t exist._

But Thor _loves_ Loki. Isn’t that enough? Love is the only act of rationale. Everything else— war, kingship, times of leisure— Everything pales in comparison. And actions which are motivated by love may sometimes turn out badly, but the intention never does. The intention of love can only bring upon a deeper capacity for it. A hollowed out heart can hold so much more.

If you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love.

When he looks upon Loki the possibilities stretch endless. And Thor has never been one to let the promise of such an adventure go free.

“Please,” Thor whispers in earnest. Catches Loki’s hand in his own and pulls it to his chest. Loki’s long fingers curl overtop his heart.

Loki half-laughs in defence or bitterness, it’s always been difficult for Thor to tell, before biting his lip. He cannot look Thor in the eye. It’s impossible to hide hard passion on something as soft as a face. It is these moments that Thor waits for the most.

His thumb draws a tender curve across Loki’s cheek. He places a kiss to the tender spot. He wants to see so much more.

“ _Just_ a kiss?” Loki murmurs back.

“It is all I ask.” 

“Then the rest I can take.” Loki bargains and there’s a hint of that dark smile, creeping up the corners of Loki’s mouth and eyes, the one that makes a spark of anticipation not unlike desire jump low in Thor’s abdomen. Has he always been this excited to fall prey to his Brother’s tricks? Perhaps so. This is just another chain link in the bond which ties them together.

A simple trade for a God who has given up everything.

Loki throws magic onto the door. 

It’s in the blaze of bright green light that twines itself around the doorframe like a snake that Thor cups Loki’s face and kisses him, prying apart lips with his tongue. Loki’s mouth opens wide and it’s hot, fierce, a deeply strange sensation. 

Thor has never kissed another in this manner, with the knowledge that what he wants can be taken away. It shreds him with long blades of desperation and yearning. He throws a knee onto the other side of Loki’s hip so that he is wrapped around Loki, trying to pour all he knows into this moment. Trying to make Loki understand in his intensity. He won’t undermine their love by stopping short. Won’t do this halfway.

There is the smell of smoke as the spell’s heat and light melts away, leaving the edges of the door and wall fused. Loki’s hands are pressed low, against his ribs, near the latches that release his armor. Thor can’t say how good this is, can only hum in agreement.

He’s prepared to do anything. Everything. Every action an equal reaction. Brothers, even in this.

Despite that it is by Loki’s hand Thor’s chest plate is undone, shucked to the floor, Loki is shaking. Reluctant. His lips are red, whites of his eyes shining even in the shade Thor casts over him. 

Oh.

Thor rolls them over. 

There’s no room. The bed’s frame is weak and creaks in protest, but they end up on their sides again, now the opposite way. When Loki sits up, the bed breaks.

“This is madness, Thor! Stop!” Loki barks, stumbling out of the collapsed bedclothes over Mjölnir. He roughly pushes tousled black hair from his flushed face, chest heaving from every deep gulp of air he steals, and Thor is up, catching his wrist.

“But are we not both mad?” He pants, and Loki does not fight it when he tugs him back into an embrace. 

They stand there, in the middle of the room. The leather of Loki’s garments feels sticky and cool. He runs his hands over the ripples and studs, feeling the textures as though it is Loki’s own skin. Loki gasps and turns his face away, the point of his nose angrily stabbing into the side of Thor’s neck.

“Mad with each other, maybe,” Loki growls and when Thor kisses the crown of his head, he bites at Thor’s throat. Thor groans and his nails drag into leather, down, and there’s strips of black skin that peel off in long trails, curling towards the ground.

Oh, but Thor knows— Why Loki could lift Mjölnir. 

It’s because he holds power over Thor now. So much, it hurts. Now that Thor knows how much Loki wants him, it’s impossible to turn a blind eye. They say ignorance is bliss, but knowing... it’s this.

The way Loki’s tongue licks softly at the roof of his mouth. The feel of Loki’s wrists, in Thor’s hands. The sound of Loki’s back hitting against the wall. Thor wonders in that distant way, if he could he ever be good again while doing something so wrong. There’s those lines, between them, pulling Thor in close, making him more aware of what he’ll lose if he doesn’t take it. Take everything.

It’s this love that nails them both through. Of all the veins which tie their blood, this is the one they could not sever. A kiss, between Brothers. Not so bad at all.

“Thor.” Loki pulls his mouth away, “The Humans, they have eyes everywhere.”

“Then let them look.” They’d never see what Thor sees. 

Loki sneers and his head tips back, knocks against the wall he’s pushed against. He strains with his eyes, looking up that extra inch into Thor’s face. Thor can barely hear him over his own pulse, for Loki’s face has always said so much. His blood is a drum in his ears, rain rumbling overtop the rest of his thoughts. 

“No,” Loki bites his lip, as if trying to stave off a deep shudder which threatens his words. His brows turn up, creasing. “Only you.”

That’s when Mjölnir is flying into Thor’s hand and he’s twirling it, not taking his eyes off Loki. If he stops looking then this will disappear. Outside a storm comes. It’s so loud that they can hear the thunder as it rolls in, the cracks of lightning that surround the base. He wills it so that lightning strikes again, quick, and targeted. Thor knows where people on Midgard get their false sun.

The whole base shakes with the tremors of the sky’s roar. Everything floods into pitch black.

There’s pandemonium, maybe, outside of their sealed chambers. But Thor doesn’t care. This is their private place lost in space. Where right and wrong doesn’t matter. If it’s all he can do, Thor does not mind turning off the lights.

******

It can be easy to become addicted to pain, if we’re not careful. The tales of our suffering can become the greatest stories ever told. And we would rather relive them, every delicious taste, until we have drunk ourselves into traps. We enclose ourselves, prisons made of pain. We make our worlds so very small because we cannot bear to wander past the hurt on all sides, until we are walking in tight circles. Caught.

 _Can you smash it down for me, Brother? Just come and take down one wall. Back me up and push me against another._

Loki’s breath comes hot and heavy, moving his entire chest up and down in a slow rhythm that opposes his heartbeat. Thor’s fingers curl inside his tunic and he _rips._ Metal studs go tinkering across the floor like hail against a blackened window.

_**Force** me to be free. _

Loki bows his head into the hollow at Thor’s collarbone. He expects it to be cold, to be hit by cool air as his skin becomes bare. But it’s hot, too hot, something thick that sets his stomach boiling, his fingertips aflame. Trembling. He can’t breathe. Thor’s hands push shreds of black away, until they are chest to chest, stuck to one another. Loki’s thumb brushes across that tiny spot by Thor’s ribs. There’s a raised line there, a memory from Loki’s knife.

“This will destroy us,” He gasps out, pushes hard against that line, knowing that if they meet again in battle he’ll use a bigger blade. 

But even as Loki protests, Thor drags hot blood-filled lips across his jaw. Kisses the column of his throat. Loki is so soft in all these places, it’s unfair that Thor should so easily reach them. He tries so hard to cover them up.

“We are all meant to be destroyed, Brother. One way or another,” Thor pants. There’s no light, no sight between them, only the feeling of his deep unrelenting words. “I wouldn’t mind, being undone by your hand.”

Loki _burns._

All his blood is racing, creeping up so fast. Thor’s hands find their way onto his hips and Loki’s slammed against the wall again. He wants it. Wants it harder. Maybe Thor knows this too, somehow. You only hurt the ones you love. 

Loki searches for Thor’s ear, to whisper, “Then undo me as well.”

Thor groans and they’re kissing again. Or breathing each other in. It’s so difficult to tell. Everything becomes one in the dark. There’s no ending to this, no beginning. His hate and love turn into the same pain, the same story over again. This is the legend of when the light went out. 

Thor’s fumbling at Loki’s lacing, and strong hands pull. Unravel the remaining dark skin clinging to him, fingers curling. Loki feels the fire inside him lick at his face, liquid heat, coming down in one damnable trail from his closed eyes. Thor’s pressing powerful kisses that leave wet welts all the way down his chest.

Loki wants to sob. Make some noise to equal the harsh wanting breath that leaves Thor’s lips. Breath like spectres trying to touch, hurt. Pain for pain. But it’s too good, agonising ecstasy when Thor’s thumbs dig deep into the grooves of his hiplines, draw down and down and down until they finally meet. Loki feels long hair brushing soft against his abdomen, and Thor’s tongue is hot like sunlight, slipping into places it shouldn’t belong. 

He wonders if Thor can hear those bugs. Those butterflies, fluttering inside. A strange, frightening sensation. Trying to become free. 

But that’s the thing about Thor. He’s never been afraid of the dark.

******

The taste of Loki is a slick sharpness against his tongue. Thor keeps it there, a thick mouthful that he groans around and pins Loki’s thrusting hips with one hand. He pries Loki’s fingers out of his hair. Thor’s knees creak against the floor, thighs burning from the kneeling position. It’s not enough. He has to have everything, or it won’t be anything later.

He finds the soft sides of Loki’s lower back as he flips Loki around. There’s a huff, a moan. The crispness of static and hair standing on end as Thor kneads Loki’s body, spreads mounds of muscle and kisses the sensitive line of skin revealed. He can’t see at all, but doesn’t care. Just opens his mouth and lets the taste of his Brother slide down. And then he’s licking, sucking, as if the shivering flesh under his mouth is a delicious feast. He bites.

Loki gasps, almost sounding scared. There’s scrabbling, like nails against a wall. Thor holds Loki by the upper thighs and can feel they are taut, trembling. But he’s more malleable now, moulds to whatever touch Thor places upon him. He hopes Loki can take one more. Thor’s tongue slips over an opening, and he’s never been one to not jump in. He sucks and licks, presses kisses until Loki is wide, quivering. Thor’s face is a mess.

“ _Thor_ ,” Loki moans.

He stands and Loki’s elbows dig into his chest. Thor takes them, slides sweating palms down Loki’s forearms until their hands meet and he uncoils Loki’s fists to splay against the wall.

“Stay there,” Thor says, voice husky. It feels like he’s always saying this. 

He reaches around, a hug from behind, holding Loki to himself. Loki’s breath is sticky and hot, and Thor’s fingertips find the soft dips and rises in his chest. It’s strange, only in an unfamiliar way. That he knows this is his Brother’s silky skin that he presses bruising kisses to, that the sway of the spine that curves hips back to meet him is the same of his best childhood friend. 

It’s strange how obvious something previously unknown has come to be.

Loki tries not to make sounds. Sounds that Thor so desperately wants to hear above the rushing of his own blood, the pulse that overthrows senses. Because he’s not doing this for mere pleasure, even though it feels so good. He throbs and shudders just the same, as if Loki is doing all that Thor does to him. 

It’s funny how silence can be filled with so much noise.

There’re no lines in the dark and he’s determined to make Loki stay. Stay with him. He wants to give Loki what he wants but not push him away. Maybe that’s what Loki wants.

Loki bucks backwards and the sudden aggressive press of their bodies in this way is so foreign, so shocking, that it’s almost painful. And then Loki fists the ends of his hair, yanking so that Thor feels the burn and drag of his stubble against Loki’s face. It hurts. 

“Do it,” Loki’s voice is so deep, so undone. He can feel the sweep of eyelashes against his cheek. Can’t tell if Loki is opening his eyes or closing them, “—Never going to get another chance.”

Impulsively, Thor kisses him. Finds Loki’s mouth to shut him up for just a second. He doesn’t want to hear lies. Because it _is_ a lie, Thor knows this. Knows it in the way Loki’s kiss is so hungry, _starving._ Thor squeezes Loki’s hips to keep him moving, lets Loki devour him, accepting anything and everything that Loki wants to do.

_There is no one else in all the realms and beyond like you. Loki, you are the only one._

Loki does not let go, won’t let him break the kiss, even as they connect with a painful hiss. It’s tight and hot and strange and perfect because this is as close as they’re ever going to be. There’s no time to linger, stand still. They’ve waited too long to be reunited to for it to be anything but everything. 

A love, plunged so much deeper than before it sends them into fervour. Love with a vengeance, they have to keep trying to catch each other, until they are tied together once again, by long hair twined around fingers and arms and legs and lips and teeth. By one heartbeat, speeding so fast that it’s impossible to tear it apart into two.

_Why can’t you see what I do?_

Thor’s thrusts come faster, Loki pushing back against him in a rhythm that rivals their hearts. And then, for one gratifying moment, there is light. The flickering behind Thor’s eyelids fades and there’s not enough air on this small world for the two of them. They’re panting through raw throats, pressed together back to chest. 

Loki was right, in a way. Freedom is the biggest lie of all. Because Thor is free but has never been free. For they are bound by something so much more painful; brotherly love and yet they are not Brothers. So tender a sentiment and yet they stand on opposite sides. Two sides of the same spinning coin, a price too high to pay, but must be paid.

_Please stay._

Thor feels Loki reach up, trail one finger down the middle of his parted lips.

“I love you,” Thor rasps against it desperately. 

“I know.”

******

It’s only in the absolute dark that a light and shadow can truly touch.

******

Morning comes.

The sun inevitably streams in from underneath the door. He should be used to this. Night and day, two halves of a whole in the endless swirl of the universe, circling one another. That is the nature of things. The orbit of life causes them both to gaze upon each other, revolve, and then gaze once more. 

But as long as Loki wants to keep looking, there will be Thor.

He knows better than to be ashamed of this sentiment now, as it will always be this way, sure as the vein that flows. Being here in Thor’s warm embrace is the sweetest pain he will ever know. Because it is not forever. He will let go.

“You always sleep so deep.” Loki whispers into Thor’s ear, lips leaving the barest of touches. 

His finger draws a line up from Thor’s navel to his collarbone. He presses a kiss against his chin. Combs back tousled strands of golden hair. Breathes in deep a scent for memory. Loki watches those laugh lines that frame Thor’s closed eyes and knows he has a matching set. These are unspoken things that can never be wiped away.

“Dream of me.”

Loki slips from underneath Thor’s arms, leaves a split image of himself lying there. 

Thor shifts in the bed they’d slept in and Loki watches himself cradle a hand against Thor’s naked kiss-bruised shoulder blade, holding him close. It tears a vicious rip in his gut that stings. All the wriggling things inside come spilling out.

He always clings to things he can’t touch.

_Will you run away to where I cannot follow?_

Loki smiles, remembering the day Thor unlocked him. Let him go. It only served to make Thor hold on tighter. Now he can see the family resemblance.

_No, of course not Thor. Don’t be stupid._

As he walks away the sunlight kisses his hair which flattens to support golden helm, licks his bare back that becomes draped with rich cloth. It touches his knees which become wrapped and guarded, and his feet which pad softly then click against the floor in hard soles.

Magic unravels from the door and it flies open. Time’s run out.

He kills three SHIELD agents in his procession. Alarms start going off, mayhem swirling up the petty mortals like insects at his feet. He crushes a few more. 

His shadow walks just ahead, stretching out into the corridor, pointing to where freedom steals.

_We are always at each other’s heels._

There is so much love, so very much love between them that it hurts. The most unimaginable pain, a blinding heat so powerful it pushes them apart, makes them turn away. Get cold. Come back again. 

Another round then.

Because Thor and Loki have always been rushing forwards, bound by the same Fate. The two of them, living with the knowledge that one will never ever be free of the other. 

For it’s in the heart, not the vein, he is called Brother.

End.

******

 

 

 

 

 

“After reviewing the Shuttle footage we have seen enough.”

Nick Fury exhales through his nose, grits his teeth behind a tight-lipped stony expression. The massive screens that surround him show familiar towering silhouettes.

“Council,” He addresses, unable to leave frustration out of his voice. He doesn’t care. “The Cube was destroyed. The Avengers, nearly wiped out. And the cherry on top? We have a reoccurring enemy now. Loki of Asgard. He continuously toys with us. Pretty much makes SHIELD look like a band of fools, while one of our own practically _pines_ and I think we should focus on—”

“Such threats are negligible. Did you acquire the desired data?”

“Yes,” He replies curtly. 

“Then we have everything we need to begin fabrication. Proceed with Project Genesis.” There are smug smiles inside the shadows.

“You did promise us a Cube, Director.”

 

**THE END.**


End file.
